Either Way
by bellissimaanima
Summary: "It would have happened either way," he tells me. "Either way," I murmur in response. After the Hunger Games, Katniss returns to District 12 and must sort through her feelings before a very special Quarter Quell. M for later chapters. Adventure in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**I OWN ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! Everything here and in the chapters following belong to Suzanne Collins- author of _The Hunger Games_ trilogy.**

* * *

I throw down my bow in frustration as I reach my usual spot by the lake. I was uncharacteristically loud today during my hunt and I scared away any game within a three-mile radius. It looks like I will be going home with nothing. Not that it matters anymore, of course. After winning The Hunger Games I have more money than I know what to do with. Providing my family with food is no longer a concern for me but hunting took up so much of my life before the games I'm not sure what to do with my time. I hunt to get away from my new life in District 12. I find solace in the woods, enjoying the familiar calm it brings me. I enjoy coming to the Hob with something to give Greasy Sae. I enjoy getting out of The Victor's Village.

Exhausted, I peel the quiver off my back and collapse on the soft grass underneath a large tree. I think my mind might be weighing down my steps. I rub the heel of my hands against my eyes. Nothing is the same. It's been two weeks since I've returned home from the Capitol. I wish I could rewind my life to what it was before the Games, but things are never that easy. I'm now beginning to realize that if you win The Hunger Games, you have to pay one way or another.

At least Prim loves her new life. The only thing that's made me happy these past two weeks is seeing her smiling face as she marvels at all her new things. Prim loves her new room (one that is also inhabited by that mangy cat she calls Buttercup.) The other day I went into town and bought Prim beautiful cloth for her to make a new dress. I used to dream of doing such things but now that I have the money, and it's possible, I can finally do it. Prim's eyes went wide as she studied the fabric and the color. She loved it but apparently Buttercup thought it was a scratching post and it was clawed to bits in less than an hour. I hate that cat.

Prim also loves the fact that I have more time to spend with her now that I don't have to hunt whenever she's done with school, which I don't attend anymore. Most of the time we just sit by the fire. Prim tells me about school and how Rory Hawthorne always tugs on her braids. I smile, knowing that Rory has a thing for Prim- Gale told me years ago.

My thoughts drift to Gale. I saw him once since I've returned home. I couldn't find him after I got back from the Capitol and he's been working the mines. It's a new schedule for both of us.

He came to see me a week after I returned.

_I am sitting at my kitchen table sipping tea when I hear a loud knock on the door. I had a feeling Gale was going to visit me soon so I am not too surprised when I open the door and am met with his gray eyes._

"_Catnip!" he exclaims and he wraps me into a bear hug, twirling me around. "I missed you." _

"_I missed you too, Gale," I tell him. I'm not used to such outward displays of affection on his part so I'm slightly taken aback. Although, it feels good to hug him. To see him, because I've missed him. I miss my life before the Games, when everything was simpler._

"_I can't stay for long. I need to go home and help mother with Posy," he explains with resigned expression. Posy only goes to bed when Gale says goodnight to her. Gale is the father she never had, much like I'm the mother mine can't be for Prim._

"_Ok. Are we hunting again on Sunday?" I ask hopefully, itching to get back into a routine I'm familiar with. _

"_Not this Sunday," Gale frowns. "I'm working special unit in the mines." Gale looks at his feet. Because he's no longer eligible for the Reaping, he has to find work in the mines and his schedule is very limited because of it._

_I look at Gale's face. He is exhausted. His dark hair is longer than I remembered and falling into his eyes. His face is covered in coal dust. It is no question that Gale is handsome. His strong features make all the girls at school crazy. Not to mention the lean muscle he's built up over the years from hunting and running through the woods. But I don't see him that way. I never have. He will always be Gale: my hunting partner and best friend. _

_A friend I can't lose in a mine accident like the one that took my father._

"_Be careful, then," I tell him._

"_I'll see you next Sunday, though," he assures me and he smiles slightly. Like me, his smiles are harder to come by but I reciprocate anyway. I expect him to turn around but Gale bends down and places his lips on my cheek. Surprised, I freeze, every muscle in my body tense. I don't like this. I don't like this. I've dealt with romance more in the past month than I have in my whole life and I can't stand it. I don't want a family. I don't want kids. And that's what romance means to me._

_Maybe it's nothing. But the way Gale is lingering makes me uneasy. I'm about to close the door out of sheer anxiety but luckily Gale pulls away and smiles before walking back to the Seam._

_Relief. _

_I hope in vain that it will be the same as before. But I am a Victor and he has to work in the mines. While he never has any time, I have more of it than I'd care for. I don't like the time. More time means more unwanted thoughts._

"Like exactly what's happening now," I think to myself bitterly.

I roll over onto my stomach and bury my nose in the long grass. My mind drifts to the conversation I had with Haymitch last night.

_It's around midnight and I'm braiding Prim's hair in front of the giant fireplace in our new house. Prim isn't tired and ever since returning from the Games I've had trouble sleeping. I'm just finishing her second braid when I hear a loud knock on our front door. Prim and I look at each other, unsure of who would be up so late._

_Slowly, I rise to my feet and make my way to the door._

"_Open up, sweetheart. We need to talk."_

_It's Haymitch and he is drunk. I'm not surprised, of course, because Haymitch is drunk most of the time. What is surprising is his decision to visit me so late._

_I turn to Prim and quietly tell her to go upstairs. Once I hear the door to her bedroom close I open the front door and allow Haymitch into my house._

_His hair is greasy and rumpled and he smells of the white liquor I know he keeps hidden in a flask in his pocket at all times. It doesn't look like he has showered in days and his clothes are covered in a variety of stains._

"_Can I help you?" I ask him indignantly. Visits from Haymitch are never pleasant but visits in the middle of the night are worse; I haven't slept in days and the exhaustion is beginning to wear on me._

"_Nice to see you too, sweetheart. I would've thought I was deserving of a warmer welcome considering I helped you come home. Alive," Haymitch muses as he looks at me hard._

_It's true that I wouldn't have made it home alive without his help but I'm not in the mood for pleasantries._

"_Is there something I can help you with?" I repeat._

"_The Capitol misses you." Haymitch states._

"_Well that's too bad. To be completely honest, I don't miss them at all," I respond, unable to keep the vemon from my voice._

"_You know what I mean, sweetheart. They miss the act," he hisses at me while looking around warily._

_Right. They miss the star-crossed lovers of District 12. My stomach drops a little. I haven't spoken to Peeta since our brief conversation on the train while returning from the Capitol._

* * *

From THG (pgs 371-373).

_Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta's eyes._

"_What's he mean?" Peeta asks me._

"_It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries," I blurt out._

"_What? What are you talking about?" he says._

"_It seemed too rebellious. So Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse," I say._

"_Coaching you? But not me," says Peeta._

"_He knew you were smart enough to get it right," I say._

"_I didn't know there was anything to get right," says Peeta. "So, what you're saying is, these last few and then I guess…back in the arena…that was just some strategy you worked out."_

"_No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him n the arena, could I?" I stammer._

"_But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" says Peeta. I bite my lip. "Katniss?" He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance._

"_It was all for the Games," Peeta says. "How you acted."_

"_Not all of it," I say, tightly holding on to my flowers._

"_Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says._

"_I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," I say. He waits for further explanation, but none's forthcoming._

"_Well let me know when you work it out," he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable._

_I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train._

* * *

_I wasn't lying when I said it wasn't all an act. I wasn't lying when I said I was confused. I'm even more confused now that I'm home and whenever I think about Peeta confusion is really all I feel. I am brought out of my stupor by Haymitch's voice._

"_The reason you two came out alive is because of your undying love for each other. How will anyone believe you if you're never seen together?"_

"_I don't think Peeta wants to see me right now." I respond. I remember Peeta's hollow voice and his expressionless face after our discussion by the train. He wasn't acting during the Games. For some reason he truly loved me and I broke his heart. _

_I don't like to think about Peeta because when I do, I realize that I miss him, in some way. He is the only one who can relate to how I feel at the moment. The only one I'm sure doesn't sleep at night either. Peeta saved me, and I saved him. I can't shake that and I don't think he can either. While I rarely thought about Peeta before the Games, he always seems to be in my thoughts now._

"_Sweetheart, the boy is head-over-heels in love with you, of course he wants to see you. Probably because you're so welcoming and cordial to your guests," Haymitch says dryly._

_I glare in response but then think about what he just said. I have no idea why Peeta loves me but apparently he does. He has only shown me kindness and I have been nothing but terrible to him as of late._

"_I would hate me if I were him," I murmur, looking at my hands._

"_But you're not him. Boy's a goner," Haymitch says wistfully while gesturing grandly with his hands. "Now listen, if you two don't become cozier soon, the Capitol is gonna take interest in you two, and not in a good way. Just because we're back in District 12 doesn't mean the Capitol isn't watching," he says to me seriously. "Got spies everywhere," he whispers._

_I suddenly feel sick. Have they been watching me go to the woods everyday? Did they see my brief exchange with Gale?_

"_Talk to the boy. Keep up the act. Got it?" Haymitch tells me. He points his flask at me accusingly, asking for any more interjections. I nod, a grim expression planted on my face._

_Haymitch takes a swig out of his flask and stares at me a while. "You could do a lot worse, you know." And with that he stumbles down the porch steps and back to his house._

_I walk up the stairs to my bedroom tired and feeling sorry for myself. I see the light in Prim's room is still on so I peak my head in to check on her, a habit I've been unable to break._

"_What are you still doing up, little duck?" I ask. Buttercup is swatting at her blonde braids as Prim tickles his large belly._

"_I told you I'm not tired." She would be convincing if it weren't for the giant yawn that escapes her mouth._

_I sigh and tug on her braid._

"_Well, you look tired. Time for bed." I help her into bed and bring the blanket up to her chin. She snuggles into her pillow and looks up at me._

"_I heard what Haymitch said to you." It's a quiet statement but a meaningful one._

_I sigh again. Prim is sneakier than I give her credit for and I would prefer her not to get caught up in my messy business of lies and manipulation._

"_I think you like Peeta more than you realize, Katniss." And with that, she rolls over and closes her eyes. I frown at the back of her head for a moment before I get up and try to get some sleep._

* * *

I spend the rest of the day lost in thought by the lake. Around dusk I crawl under the fence and make my way back to the Victor's Village. I focus on the puffs of coal dust that my boots create as I walk through the Seam and into Town, unwilling to meet anyone's eyes.

I pass the bakery and my mind drifts to Peeta again. I sigh. Haymitch is right; I have to talk to him soon. We can't just pretend the other doesn't exist anymore, it will make the Capitol suspicious and to say Snow isn't happy with us to begin with is an understatement. I can't help but think about how unfair the entire situation is. I have to pretend to be in love with Peeta and he has watch me act out his greatest desire only to be let down in the end. Because that's all I can do: let him down.

By the time I reach the Victor's Village it is almost dark and I know Prim will be worried. As I walk up the steps to my house I chance a glance across the street.

The windows in his house are dark except for one. I can see his silhouette against the dim light from a second-story window.

Before I can process what I am doing, I am already across the street and walking up the wooden steps of his porch. I slowly climb the last steps and take a deep breathe before I knock on Peeta's front door. I don't know what I'm going to say to him. We developed a strange bond during our time in the Games, an intense trust, and I know I've betrayed it these last two weeks.

He opens the door, his blue eyes bright against the dark backdrop of his empty house. His hair is messy and there are large bags under his eyes, ones that probably match my own. He doesn't smile at me.

"Katniss," it's more a statement than a question.

"Hey," I respond lamely.

Peeta looks past my shoulder to see if anyone is behind me. Maybe he thinks Haymitch dragged me here, which is kind of true.

"What are you doing here?" he asks softly. The question isn't meant to sound harsh but his words have a stinging effect.

"I…" I clutch my empty game bag as if it holds the answer he wants. I wish it did.

"Prim wanted me to check on you," I tell him. This is a lie. Haymitch wanted me to check on Peeta. Hell, _I_ wanted to check on Peeta. Prim would be angry with me if she knew I used this excuse.

I could tell this is not the answer Peeta wanted. His face drops for a split second, betraying his emotions. Quickly he gathers himself and crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the door. Anyone else would be convinced of his ambivalence but I know better.

"That's nice of Prim, but she doesn't have to worry." The look on his face is cold and his jaw is set into a severe line. The expression doesn't reach his eyes, though, which are tired and sad.

"If that's all you came here for, it's getting late and I have things that need to be taken care of before nightfall," he says, pausing only for a second.

"Goodnight, Katniss."

It's the most callous Peeta has ever been to me and I hate it. I hate that this is what it's become, knowing I've done it.

"Wait!" I shout, before he can close the door in my face.

Peeta turns around and looks at me. As much as I don't like being puppets of the Capital and Snow, it's in everyone's best interest if Peeta and I are a convincing couple. For that to happen we need to be on speaking terms.

"I'm sorry," I almost whisper, and I realize that I truly mean it. I'm sorry for deceiving him. I'm sorry for pretending he didn't exist. I'm sorry for not talking to him sooner.

Unmoved, he stares at me.

"I'm sorry for ignoring you. I…needed time." He isn't impressed. "To think", I offer.

"To think about what?"

"About us. About The Hunger Games. About what it all meant." There hasn't been a day where thoughts of the Hunger Games don't invade my mind. I think about Rue and her beautiful little face encased in flowers. I think about Foxface and the nightlock berries that stained her lips. I think about Cato's screams as he is torn apart by the mutts. All of these memories fill my dreams and I jolt awake at night, terrified, thinking I am still in the arena.

I think of Peeta, too. I think about Peeta more than I'd like to admit.

"And what did you decide?" he asks me.

"I decided that I miss you." I whisper softly. "As a friend," I quickly add. I can't let him get the wrong idea again. If we do this now, we are going to be honest with one another.

"I miss you too," he whispers. He doesn't clarify the "friend" part. It's always been more for him and the look in his eyes only confirms it.

I don't know what else to say. It's strange enough I admitted this to Peeta and I want to go home. I stand my ground though. It's his move now.

"Does this mean we should be friends?" He asks slowly, prodding.

"I think so." I think of Haymitch. He'll be happy I accomplished this small feat.

"Me too, Katniss." With that he gives me a small smile, a peace offering, and he closes the door.

I stand there for a few moments, unsure of what just happened. I collect myself and walk across the street back to my house.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning I wake up later than usual. Last night I was able to sleep a fair amount, mostly because there were no nightmares. Instead I had a strange dream, one that was not all together unpleasant. Peeta and I were walking through the woods. We were both silent, which is a true feat for Peeta, and apparently me as of late. He spotted a large buck and I took it down with one arrow, straight through the eye. Together, we hauled it back to the Hob and I sold it to Sae. It was a simple dream. A happy one.

I hop out of my bed with newfound energy and wash my face. As I am pulling on a pair of old black pants, I hear voices in the kitchen. I hastily finish dressing and start braiding my hair as I walk down the stairs.

Peeta is seated at the kitchen table with Prim and he was apparently in the midst of telling her a gripping story that I catch the tail end of.

"…and even though it seemed like a good idea, my stomach ached for days afterwards. So don't eat too many of them, OK?" he instructs as he points to a plate full of sugar cookies in the center of the table.

Prim nods and turns when she hears me hit the bottom stair. "Katniss!"

Peeta turns to look at me, a shy smile decorating his face. "Good morning, Katniss," he greets me.

I feel my eyebrows knit together. His behavior is quite the change from last night. Not to mention his blue eyes are brighter and the circles under them look minutely smaller. It seems like he had combed his hair, as well, or at least tried to, because it is less messy than when I saw him last night. He is wearing a soft white cotton t-shirt and a pair of old jeans that seem to be dusted with flour.

I glance at the cookies in the middle of the table and scowl even though I think of Prim and the way she would always look at the sugar cookies in the bakery window until I had to drag her away. I hadn't even thought to get her some since returning from the Games. Of course my issues with the baker's son kept me away as well. Had I told Peeta about Prim's obsession with those cookies during the Games. Maybe that's the reason he brought them.

"Peeta brought us cookies, Katniss, isn't that nice of him?" Prim asks me as she pops a cookie into her mouth.

Her voice brings me back to my senses and I glance in her direction. Why is he here? He didn't seem to be too pleased with me last night.

"That's very nice of him," I answer while quirking an eyebrow at Peeta questioningly.

"I was just telling Prim that I plan on making a lot of sugar cookies for the school. The kids have exams coming up and I figured it would be nice to have cookies waiting for them after the tests. I could use your help," he says.

"I don't think I would be any help. I'm not good at cooking," I respond. I am completely thrown by this proposition. Last night he couldn't wait to see me go and now he wants to spend the day playing house? I know we agreed to be on better terms but this is sudden.

"It's for the good of the children, Katniss, are you going to let down the children?" Peeta looks at Prim knowingly and she smiles broadly.

"Why do you need my help? Can't Prim help you?" I ask, annoyed.

Peeta rolls his eyes dramatically and turns to Prim, who giggles at his extravagance. "I told you she would be difficult."

I start to protest when Prim interjects. "I have school, Katniss. Remember?"

"Prim has school, remember?" Peeta imitates Prim's high voice. She frowns and sticks her tongue out at Peeta. I feel the corners of my lips twitch upwards and I fight them down.

"Besides, I asked you," he adds softly, imploring me with those blue eyes. I feel my cheeks heat up and am so surprised by my reaction that I turn to look at the floor.

"Bye Peeta! Katniss," I look up at my sister to see her staring at my bright red cheeks. She smiles, turns on her heel and walks out the door.

* * *

The kitchen in Peeta's house is identical to mine, only his is much more…pleasant. Mine reminds me of my mother, who likes to stay at our old house in the Seam half of the week due to her job as Healer. When she is home she cooks in the new kitchen.

I don't miss her. Prim pretends not to but I know she does.

Peeta makes his way around his kitchen with ease, pulling this and that from the cabinets. We don't talk and our strange "cookie making adventure" is awkward but I have no desire to make it more enjoyable. If he dragged me into this, he will suffer as well. I mentally scold myself. If we are going to be a convincing couple, we should do these kinds of activities.

"If we're going to be friends, we are gonna have to spend more time together," Peeta declares, as if reading my mind. "It's for the better," he adds, almost to himself, as he concentrates on mixing ingredients for the cookies.

I had taken a spot on the counter and was watching Peeta start to concoct the cookies. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and I see his muscles flex as he methodically starts to roll out the dough. His arms are tanned and I can see some new burn marks scattered around them.

I place my hand on his arm without thinking and he immediately stops and looks up at me. His face is closer to mine than I had anticipated. He stares at me straight in the eyes and he exhales through his mouth. I feel it on my face.

"What are these from? I thought you had a full body-polish in the Capitol?" I ask, tearing my eyes from his.

He waves me away dismissingly. "I'm not used to the new ovens in this house. New ovens mean new burns."

"I'm sorry," I reply. I don't have any new scars from hunting. It feels unfair that Peeta should have more scars than me.

He just looks up at me and smiles widely. "Don't be sorry, I love baking," he assures me as he goes back to the dough.

I spend my time alternating between staring out the window and staring at Peeta's arms working the dough.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted last night," he says and I am brought out of my daydreaming. "I was surprised by your visit. Haymitch warned me but I didn't think you'd actually come. I was just…overwhelmed… with everything," he explains and I feel guilty, remembering his broken expression on the train a few weeks ago.

"That's OK." I don't know what else to say so I just study his arms as they move around the dough.

"It's not. I'm sorry for assuming that…we both felt the same. I should've known that you had someone else at home. I was being naïve," Peeta says as he pauses slightly in his dough making and look at him.

Who else would he be referring to? I don't have any friends and I barely talk to anyone besides Prim and Gale. _Wait_.

"Are you talking about Gale? We're not together. He is like a brother to me. Nothing more," I look Peeta straight in the eye when I say this and for once he is the one to falter.

"Oh. Okay," he responds as he sharply turns back to the dough and he starts to roll it out. I continue to watch him do it.

Peeta breaks the silence after a few minutes.

"So…now that we're friends," he looks up at me and smiles, "we can have little baking adventures everyday." He says the last part of the sentence in a perfect Capitol accent and at the same time flicks some flour my way, leaving the end of my braid covered in white powder.

"Hey!" I shout, slightly shocked. I turn back to Peeta and his smile is so genuine that I smile back and for a second I forget where I am. But then I think about how much Haymitch would love this display and scold Peeta before he gets the wrong idea.

"I hate baking," I frown while dusting my hair off. Peeta looks up at me, hurt in his eyes, before he so expertly disguises it.

"That's not what I meant. I mean…I'm fine sitting here watching you do it," I explain, trying to rectify the situation. He looks up at me with those damn eyes again and before I can get flustered I switch my gaze to the floor. I can feel my cheeks burn anyway and I'm not sure if it's because of sudden embarrassment or anger or just Peeta.

"It's getting late, I'm going to pick up Prim from school," I say hastily as I hop off the counter and make my way to the door before Peeta can change my mind.

"Wait," he almost shouts before I can open his front door. He grabs my hand and leads me to the porch. Before I know what is happening he envelopes me in a soft hug. I stiffen at first, still not used to this. But then I remember the way he feels. I forgot what it was like to hug Peeta. I'm brought back to our time in the cave, the only time during the Games when I felt any semblance of safety. I realize I'm hugging him back. He smells like the sugar and vanilla he was using for the cookies but also something else I can't quite pinpoint. It's a good smell, not like the coal dust and gasoline that 12 reeks of. I feel my eyes flutter close, too caught up in this strange feeling of being _safe_. I feel his arms travel down my sides to my waist and he starts to pull away but before he does completely, he presses his cheek to mine and whispers, "for the cameras." Something in his voice isn't right, though. It's the same hollow voice I know from the train. The voice of a boy who is reminding himself that it's all fake. The voice of a boy who had his heart broken once before and isn't going to let it happen again.

Before I know it Peeta lets me go and is back inside his house. I shake myself from my momentary daze before going home to wash the flour out of my hair. I'm not explaining that to Prim.


	3. Chapter 3

Peeta and I see each other a few more times that week. We bake at Peeta's and even though I feel completely useless I don't entirely hate my time with him. It gives me something to do other than wallow in my own boredom and dread of the upcoming Victory Tour. It also reminds me of why Panem likes Peeta so much. His personality is contagious and, as much as I hate to admit it, I typically leave Peeta's house in a far better mood than when I arrived.

On Sunday morning I get up early to hunt with Gale. Gale and I haven't gone hunting together since before the Games and I've been looking forward to it all week. I think of all we will be able to haul back to the Hob with our combined skills.

I quietly walk down the stairs and am surprised to see Prim sitting at the kitchen table with Buttercup on her lap.

"What are you doing up?" I ask her quietly, not wanting to wake up Mother, who slept over last night.

"Buttercup woke me up and I couldn't fall back asleep," she responds while patting the disgusting cat on the head.

"I still have no problem cooking him, you know," I tell her and smile to myself. If only…

"That's not funny, Katniss," Prim scowls at me. "Are you going to see Peeta again today?"

"I don't know. Probably not, I'm hunting with Gale. Why?" I ask.

"Just asking," She responds innocently.

I go over to door and start pulling on my leather hunting boots. I peer out the window and study the purplish sky of the early morning.

"You just seem different whenever you're with him. You're not scowling so much," she teases me.

"Prim," I warn her. I can't have her on my case about Peeta as well. Although maybe if she is noticing a change in me the Capitol will as well.

"I just want you to be happy, Katniss," she says as she looks up at me. Her blue eyes implore me and for a second I all I can think of are Peeta's blue eyes. Before I lose my train of thought I grab my game bag and shout a "goodbye" to Prim. I glance at Peeta's house as I make my way across the yard in the direction of the woods. His lights are on, like they always are whenever I pass. I wonder if he ever sleeps.

* * *

"Hey Gale," I greet as I reach our usual spot in the woods. I see him turn around sharply at the sound of my voice. He smiles broadly when he sees me and stands up from his sitting position on a rotting log.

"Hey Catnip! Long time no see," he says as he grabs his bow and quiver. "Ready?"

I nod enthusiastically, ready to return to any semblance of normalcy that we had established before the Games. I'm relieved there's no unnecessary cheek-kissing and hugging.

After about three hours we have been able to take down two turkeys, three squirrels and one rabbit. I'm happy with the haul but my muscles ache from lack of sleep and the exertion of sneaking through the woods. I feel my Capitol-provided shower calling for me at my house in the Victor's Village.

Gale and I reach the edge of the woods by the electric fence and he runs over to see if it's turned on. I watch him bend down, his head close to the wires.

"It's on," he calls back to me. This isn't that surprising considering District 12 has more money than before due to the wealth that two Victors from the district can bring. After all, more money for the District means more electricity.

I sit down under the cover of the trees that line the meadow and watch Gale make his way to me. We sit in silence for a few minutes before he speaks.

"I'm really glad you're back, Catnip," he says.

I look over at him and see that he's been watching me.

"Me too, Gale," I say, giving him a very small smile. I've been craving our old hunting routine, something that the Capitol hasn't stolen from me yet.

"How much longer do you have to keep up this charade with baker boy?" he asks. His question seemingly comes from out of nowhere and I frown at the way he refers to Peeta.

"I don't know. Until things die down maybe?" I suggest.

"Doesn't it bother you? Having to traipse around on his arm all day?" Gale asks, annoyed.

"On some level. But if it keeps the people I love safe then I'm OK with it," I tell him. I think back to Haymitch's words to me from a few days ago. _"You could do a lot worse, you know."_

"Let's just run away, then. Run away from it all. We could survive, you and me. Prim could come. We could be safe. We could be happy," Gale looks at me, an intense expression written on his face. Haven't we had this discussion before? Before the Games even started, when things were much less complicated? Even then it was impossible.

"It's different now, Gale. I'm a Victor. I can't just run away. They'll know within 15 minutes if I'm gone." I can't run away from Peeta, either, but I don't tell that to Gale. It feels unnatural even thinking about it. Peeta and I are a strange team and I can't abandon him.

I'm not sure where Gale is going with this line of questioning so I leave my spot on the grass to check the fence again. I'm relieved when I don't hear the buzz of electricity.

"It's off, let's go," I call over to Gale. He doesn't move, only paces back and forth between the trees, glancing at me occasionally.

"Come on!" I hiss at him. If anyone sees us we'll be in big trouble. The sun has already risen and I can hear District 12 waking up from my spot by the fence.

He is either ignoring me or doesn't hear me so I jog over to where he is standing by the woods.

"What are you—"

I don't get to finish my question because Gale has turned around and planted his lips on mine. It takes a few moments for me to react due to my complete and utter shock. I can feel his lips move against mine, trying to get them to cooperate. I shift my head to move away from him but he brings his hands up to the sides of my face and holds me in place. I try to wriggle free of his grasp but he only holds me tighter. Angered, I bring my hand up to his head and hit him as hard as I can.

That seems to get his attention because he finally breaks away from me, breathing heavily.

"What was that for?" He asks angrily.

"What was that for? What was _that_ for?" I say gesturing between us.

"What, so baker boy can kiss you but I can't?" Gale asks bitterly.

Speechless, I just stare at him, slack-jawed. Gale sighs and walks toward me. I back away in response and the hurt in Gale's eyes is palpable.

"Katniss," Gale implores and he delicately places a hand on my shoulder, afraid I might run away. "I should have told you before. Before you went to the Games. Before the Reaping, even." His eyes bore into mine as what he says next registers with me.

"I love you."

I stand in the cluster of trees by the fence and look up at him. "What?" I whisper.

"I love you. I love you," he repeats at me while smiling. I don't return it. In fact, I probably look like I tasted something quite revolting. I shake my head at him.

"Gale…" I search my brain for the proper response to his statement. 'I love you, too' isn't one of them.

"Don't you love me?" he asks.

It takes me a few moments to respond. "I do. But not the way you love me," I tell him solemnly. I feel terrible. Am I breaking Gale's heart as well?

Gale's smile disappears and he turns around, staring into the woods for a few moments. I look at him, not sure what to do. Suddenly he turns back around and looks at me angrily.

"So what? You love Mellark, don't you?" He spits at me.

I shake my head. So this is what this whole thing is about. Gale is jealous of Peeta. This bothers me more than Gale's assaulting kiss. Nobody should be jealous of a Victor, Peeta especially. He's gone through too much. I lost him his leg and I broke his heart. I've hurt him so much. Every time I say "goodbye" to him on our strange "bonding sessions" I see the hopelessness etched into his face.

"You are both my friends! I care about both of you!" I exclaim.

I am suddenly filled with an overwhelming sadness. Is this what is to become of my relationship with Gale? The same strange relationship I currently have with Peeta? Awkward small talk and unbearable guilt?

"Do you love him?" Gales asks me again.

"No! He's my friend. Just like you are my friend," I shout as I ball my fists. I'm starting to get angry. Why can't he just understand for once?

"I was your friend first! Does that mean anything to you? I should have known that I had no chance when I saw you too all lovey-dovey in the arena," Gale spits at me.

My hand seems to make contact with Gale's cheek of its own accord. I can see an angry red mark starting to form from where I slapped him. It's been less than 10 minutes and I've hit Gale twice. This must be some sort of record.

"I was fighting for my life! And if that meant sharing a few kisses with Peeta, so be it. Peeta saved my life, more times then I can even think of. And he for sure wouldn't be treating me like a piece of shit the way you are doing right now." I shout furiously.

I'm out of trees and on the other side of the fence before Gale can comprehend what I just said.

* * *

I'm fuming as I make my way back to the Victor's Village. I left my game bag in the woods and I hope Gale won't be too stubborn to leave it there. His family still lives in the Seam and they need as much food as they can get. I am making my way up the stairs of my porch when I hear Haymitch calling me.

"Come here, sweetheart. News from the Capitol."

I stop in my tracks and turn toward the sound of Haymitch's voice. His head is peaking out of the door to his house and he's looking at me gravely. I know it must be serious. I walk back down the stairs and up the steps to Haymitch's house.

Haymitch moves aside as I enter through his front door. The smell is what I notice first. Clearly Haymitch doesn't think it is necessary to clean his house regularly or else I wouldn't be assaulted with such an offending odor. When my eyes adjust to the darkness I see that the layout of his house is much similar to my own. The only difference is that it looks like a bomb exploded here, leaving it covered in random debris from 20 plus years of Haymitch's inhabitance. There are at least 10 bottles of empty liquor bottles scattered around the living room and I see two full ones propped up against his unused fireplace. If Effie ever set foot in here she would have an aneurism.

I spot Peeta sitting at Haymitch's kitchen table, his shirt and arms covered in flour. Haymitch must have interrupted his baking. Does he ever _stop_ baking? Haymitch plops down next to him and I take a seat across from the both of them.

"Do you know what this is about?" I ask Peeta, a bit more harshly than necessary. Peeta quirks an eyebrow at me, questioning my nasty tone and disheveled appearance.

"The Capitol is moving the date of the Victory Tour up a few months. To three days from now," Haymitch states before he takes a sip of whatever vile substance is in his flask at the moment.

I look at Peeta and he switches his gaze to his hands.

"They miss their star-crossed lovers from District 12. Want to see what they're up to," Haymitch elaborates.

"Oh" I say. I wasn't expected to depart for the Victory Tour for at least two more months.

"The whole motley crew will be here in three days to prepare you two for the next step of the grand ol' adventure," Haymitch says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "So…" he says as he stands up abruptly, grabbing Peeta by the scruff of his shirt before he throws him in my direction. "Act like you could possibly love each other," Haymitch pleads. "Whatever you're doing now isn't enough. Got that Casanova?" he asks Peeta.

Peeta looks down at his feet, his cheeks growing pink. I'm too angered from the day's events to be affected by Haymitch's words so I just scowl at him.

"Don't give me that, sweetheart. You don't deserve him anyway," Haymitch says condescendingly, before ushering us both out of his house.

Once on Haymitch's porch I look at Peeta. He is still staring at his feet, his hands in his pockets.

"Peeta," I say and I tap his shoulder. He looks at me, his eyes forlorn.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," Peeta murmurs.

"For what?" I ask surprised. What could he possibly be sorry for?

"If it weren't for me you wouldn't be in this mess. You wouldn't have to pretend anymore. Your life wouldn't have been completely derailed," he explains.

I look up at him and cross my arms over my chest. Leave it to Peeta to apologize about something that is out of his control. I don't know if it was my previous encounter with Gale but I feel the need to let Peeta know I can never hold him responsible for what happened to us. At first I blamed him, yes. But now I realize what he did: he _saved_ us. There is no way I would have gotten enough sponsors to survive the Games without his help.

"You're right. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be a part of this mess. I would be dead." His eyes meet mine and we share a long look. "You saved my life. More than once, and I will never blame you for what the Capitol does to me." Peeta looks like he wants to interject but I put my hand on his mouth.

"So don't apologize to me about this situation again," I order. "OK?" I ask him more softly. He looks like he is searching for something else to say but instead just nods his head, his resignation visible.

"I'll see you tomorrow. More baking, I'm guessing?" I ask him, attempting to be light-hearted and failing miserably. He smiles.

"You could always take me into the woods and teach me how to shoot a bow and arrow," Peeta considers aloud, his smile growing by the second.

"I'll take you into the woods once Effie refuses to wear five-inch high heels," I tell him.

"Baking it is," declares Peeta. "But just remember the alternative when you get snippy tomorrow."

"Fine," I sigh dramatically, feeling the corners of my mouth twitch upward. Peeta looks at me and I feel my cheeks start to heat up again. I say 'goodbye' and walk down the stairs and back to my house faster than usual, my fingers tingling from where they touched Peeta's lips.


	4. Chapter 4

The day before Peeta and I are set to leave for the Victory Tour I spend the entire day in the woods. I wake up at the crack of dawn and hike all the way to the lake. It's early fall and the colors of the leaves are beginning to change. It's my favorite time of the year; the leaves haven't yet fallen so I can still walk through the forest without being detected and there is still plenty of game because it's not cold enough for the animals to start hibernating. I get lost in the vibrant colors of the forest, walking slowly so I can properly admire them. Fall is strange; a beautiful introduction to the most dangerous time of year: winter.

I'm slightly distracted so I only manage to take down two squirrels. I decide to bring them to the Hob. My family has plenty of money and can now pay for anything they need while I'm gone so they have no real use for my game anymore. Hopefully Sae won't put up too much of a fuss when I demand she take them.

It's early evening when I enter District 12's black market and it's bustling with activity. The miners are done with work for the day so they typically come to the Hob to see what they can buy for cheap before going home to their families. It's what my Father use to do.

I see Sae at her usual spot in the corner. She is standing behind a large bowl of stew, dishing out portions to her loyal customers. I walk up to her and drop my game bag on the counter.

"What's for dinner tonight?" I ask.

"Stew," she responds without taking her eyes off of the large bowl. I study the wrinkles that cover her face. Age has taken war against Sae but she refuses to let it define her. She leaves that to the stew.

"I guessed as much. What's in it?" I respond.

"Wild dog," she responds, glancing up at me.

"How much for a bowl?"

"Whatever the price it's not worth all that," she says as she points to my game bag. She's on to me. I come here at least once a week and try to pawn my game off on her, knowing she will sell her stew to customers at a discounted price if she uses my meat.

"You don't even know what's in here," I argue.

"You come here a lot, girlie. I'm no idiot," she explains as she waves me away with her gnarled old hand.

"Yeah, well I want a really big bowl," I tell her, frustrated. In the Seam, no one likes to owe anything. Owing is a weakness. Giving Sae my meat may seem like a charity act but it's not how I intend it. I've been in her place, of course. I'm even more stubborn when it comes to charity.

During our exchange I see Thom, Gale's friend, come up to Sae's stall and ask for a bowl of stew. He gives her a few coins and she gives him the bowl in exchange. Before he can walk away I see Sae beckon him closwer.

"Wait, there. Got a new batch in this morning," she tells him as she goes underneath her stall and pulls out a giant loaf of bread. I see that it's a hearty, filled with nuts and dried fruit. _I know that bread_, I think to myself. It's the bread Peeta tossed me when we were children. I'm so shocked to see it here that all I can do is watch as Thom walks away with it. That bread also pulls something deep from inside me and I struggle for words.

"So you'll take food from him but you won't from me?" I ask her.

Sae looks up at me. "Your boy's a smooth talker. Maybe he could teach you a thing or two."

Angry, I dump the contents of my game bag on the counter of Sae's stall, grab a bowl of stew before she can challenge me and head towards a secluded corner of the Hob to eat in silence. I slowly chew the meat in the stew, thinking about how Peeta so expertly persuaded Sae to take his bread. I didn't even know he went to the Hob.

"Katniss."

I turn around at the sound of Gale's voice. I haven't spoken to him since he kissed me.

I spot him a few yards away by the butcher. He is dressed in his coal miner's uniform, his helmet tucked underneath his arm.

I don't respond, instead choosing to stare him down while I continue to eat Sae's stew. I still haven't forgiven him for the way he treated me two days ago. He walks toward me slowly, the same way I would approach in animal back in the woods.

"Can I talk to you please?" Gale asks.

"I don't want to talk to you," I respond, scraping the remnants of the stew from the bottom of the bowl.

"Katniss, please?" he pleads.

I pause and look at him. It must be the way Gale says my real name instead of that stupid nickname he gave me all those years ago because I nod, return the bowl to Sae and follow him out of the Hob. I realize after a few moments that Gale is leading me behind the slagheap. I've heard my fair share of stories about what goes on here. Rumor has it a girl in my year at school got pregnant behind the slagheap.

"Are you serious, Gale? The slagheap? If you try anything again, I swear I don't have a problem breaking your nose," I hiss, the volume of my voice growing with each word.

"Relax, I swear I won't try anything, I learned my lesson the first time," he assures me ruefully.

"Alright. What's this about then?" I ask him. There must be some other reason he dragged me back here.

Once we are successfully hidden behind the slagheap Gale starts talking.

"I wanted to apologize for how I acted the last time I saw you. I shouldn't have tried to kiss you and I'm sorry for saying those things." I know he must have thought about what he wanted to say because of the way he slowly goes through each sentence, as if they were rehearsed.

"You're right, you shouldn't have done that," I state while staring back at him.

"I just wanted to…fix things between us…before you leave tomorrow," Gale murmurs.

"How did you find out I'm leaving tomorrow? I just found out a few days ago."

"News travels fast. Besides, I saw them setting up for a train arrival this morning on my way to the mines."

"Oh." I cross my arms over my chest and wait for him to continue.

Gale looks down at his feet, and scratches his head.

"I just can't bear the thought of you being mad at me before you go back there. I can't…I just don't know what I would do. If anything happened," he explains.

"The Games are over, Gale. It's just the Victory Tour. I'll be back in less than two months," I say this for my benefit as well as his.

"I know. I just can't take anything for granted anymore." Gale looks at me intensely. "I know that now," he almost whispers, as if the words are for him alone. After a moment he smiles at me. "Besides, two months is long. Who will provide District 12 with illegal meat during that whole time?" he asks playfully.

I smile and roll my eyes. "Alright, if that's all you've got to say, I need to go home. Prim is upset about me leaving and I promised I would spend the whole night with her." I start towards the direction of the Victor's Village but Gale stops me.

"Do you forgive me then?" he asks.

I nod in response. I still haven't fully forgiven but I know I can't stay mad at him forever. He's my best friend after all.

"I'll see you after the Tour, then?" he asks.

"Sure, Gale," I tell him.

He smiles at me and I head home.

* * *

I know something is wrong as soon as I open the front door to my house in the Victor's Village. I hear my mother talking in the living room; we don't usually have guests. Prim is in the kitchen and her back is to me. She is pouring tea into cups. She turns and looks at me, her face is white; it looks like she has seen a ghost. I'm about to ask her what's wrong when I hear his voice.

"Hello, Miss Everdeen."

I turn around and see President Snow in my living room, sitting in a large chair by the fireplace. My mother is sitting across from him, her hands clasped together tightly in her lap. She looks up at me, fearful. Snow's lips curl into a disgusting smile and I feel my stomach drop down to my feet. I can smell him from here: blood covered up by the overpowering stench of roses.

"Hello," I stammer.

"Thank you very much for the hospitality, Mrs. Everdeen," Snow tells my mother. "Your mother here was just telling me how much you all enjoy your new accommodations," Snow explains to me.

"Yes, they're lovely," I answer. "Thank you. It's such a treat considering our prior housing situation."

Snow smiles broadly at me and turns to my mother.

"Now if you don't mind giving me and your daughter some privacy, Mrs. Everdeen, there are some things I would like to talk to her about." Snow smiles sweetly at my mother and I see her give me an alarmed look. I nod my head at her encouragingly, trying to communicate that I will be alright.

Prim brings in the tea and sets it down on the coffee table.

"Why thank you, Primrose, this is absolutely divine," Snow tells my sister. Prim looks up at me, terrified.

"Don't worry," I tell her. "I still plan on spending the entire night with you. Why don't you go upstairs and play with Buttercup?" I smile at her but my voice cracks on the last few words. She listens to me anyway and I watch her and my mother slowly climb the stairs and disappear. I turn my attention to Snow, who looks at me happily.

"How are you doing this fine evening?" he asks.

"I'm doing…well, thank you. And you?" I struggle to keep my voice strong and steady.

"A tad tired, unfortunately. I was expecting you a lot sooner. Your poor mother and sister have had to entertain me while we waited for you."

I search my mind for a proper excuse to my tardiness. "I'm sorry, I was…on a walk…around the District," I stutter.

"A long walk, undoubtedly, if it took you nearly the entire day," he says.

I blanche. How long has he been here?

"Don't pretend we in the Capitol are unaware of your poaching tendencies, Miss Everdeen. Up until now we simply haven't seen the need to enforce the rule, as it wasn't proving dangerous," he says. Snow pauses to take a sip of tea. "That is, of course, until a particular tribute from District 12 happened to be exceptional with a bow and arrow, successfully keeping her and a very lucky young man alive during the last Hunger Games."

I am at a lose for words so I stay quiet, watching him continue to sip Prim's tea.

"You might want to tell your _friend - _Mr. Hawthorne, is it? - to stop his illegal behavior as well. We wouldn't want to have to punish anyone, would we?" Snow's tone is friendly but I can easily detect the hint of danger behind his words.

"No, sir," I whisper in response. I think of Gale. We are aware of the illegality of our hunting practices but finding food to feed our families was always of a higher importance. Gale doesn't hunt as often now that he is in the mines but that only means he must hunt all day on Sunday. I have to warn him as soon as I can.

"You are aware of the Capitol's punishment for poaching, aren't you Miss Everdeen?" Snow prods.

"Yes, sir," I respond. _Death_, I think to myself. If they catch Gale hunting again they will surely kill him. I feel my hands begin to shake and it takes most of my energy to keep them still. I feel like I'm back in the Capitol under the scrutiny of all of Panem, trying to remain stoic and fearless despite my inner terror.

Snow picks up his cup of tea and walks to the window, staring out across the lawn, presumably at Peeta's house. I being to panic, thinking he went to visit Peeta while I was gone. I can't imagine him hurting Peeta, though. _He can't possibly hurt Peeta_, I try to reassure myself.

"You really have a variety of suitors, don't you?" Snow muses.

"I'm sorry?" I respond, baffled.

"As of late, you seem to be having to…how shall I put this…slap them away," he considers, so quietly I have to strain to hear him.

And then it hits me. Snow must have seen Gale kiss me in the woods two days ago. If he could see me, could he hear me as well? I admitted that the star-crossed lovers of District 12 were an act. That's not all, though. How many times have Gale and I talked about fleeing District 12? And our true thoughts on the Capitol? I feel lightheaded and need to grip the arm of the sofa to keep from falling over. Treason is punishable by death as well. What else does he know? I scan my memory for things I've said in this house, sure that it is bugged too.

My mind is racing and it takes me a few moments for me to collect myself before I respond.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I love Peeta," I tell him. _He can't possibly know that it's not true_, I try to comfort myself. I've played the part, haven't I?

Snow studies me for a moment and grins, his bloated slips stretching over his teeth. "People in the Capitol may seem frivolous and gullible, Miss Everdeen, but I am not one of them. I am well aware of the hoax you established to win over Panem. I, however, was unconvinced."

Speechless, I stare back at him. _The act. The act. The act. Just keep up the act and there won't be a problem_, I chant over in my mind. They can't harm the star-crossed lovers. Panem won't have it.

Snow turns his back to me again and stares out the window at Peeta's house. "While you are quite hard to believe, Mr. Mellark is quite the opposite. Wouldn't you agree?"

I remain silent, gripping the arm of the sofa tighter.

"He is just absolutely smitten. I see no need to pay him a visit. After all, you will probably do me the favor of relaying this conversation back to him yourself, won't you?"

I nod, relieved, knowing that's exactly what I am going to do. That and warn Gale.

"Can we agree on something Miss Everdeen?" Snow asks me.

I nod again.

"You need to make yourself more convincing. That shouldn't be too hard should it?" Snow takes another sip of tea. "Mr. Mellark is a handsome young man. There are many in the Capitol who believe it to be true," Snow tells me slowly, as if talking to a child. He's right of course. The Capitol adores Peeta.

Snow places his teacup down and turns away from the window, clasps his hands behind his back and stares me down. The tone of his voice remains the same, however: friendly, riddled with danger.

"If you don't find a way to love him, we could always…turn him over to someone who would appreciate him. He could very well become the new Finnick Odair. There are hundreds of Capitol citizens who would lay down a pretty penny to spend some time with Mr. Mellark. Isn't that right?"

At first I don't understand and it must show in my face. Snow cocks his head and me, a small smirk playing at his lips. Finnick Odair was the winner of the 65th Hunger Games. He was fourteen at the time and his weapon of choice was the trident, which is quite fitting considering he is from District 4. Finnick is extremely attractive, with bronze hair and bright green eyes, an easy favorite of the Capitol. He has a different woman on his arm at every Capitol function and they paw at him unabashedly while he stands there like a prize.

And then I realize. Snow must be selling Finnick Odair to the highest bidder. Snow's grin grows to a toothy smile. I wonder if the charade ends at benefits and other Capitol events or if it becomes more personal at a different point in time. I feel the blood rush from my face and I take a step to steady myself. Snow would do that to Peeta if I don't cooperate. Suddenly I feel like I might vomit. I won't allow that. Never.

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "No, that won't be necessary," I tell him, my voice slowly becoming stronger. If this is the one thing I can control, I will do everything I can to prevent it from happening.

"Excellent! It appears we have finally agreed upon something," Snow says happily, clapping his hands together. "You do realize why it's so important to keep up this act of yours and to, more importantly, make it convincing?"

I stay silent, unblinking. I'm hesitant to response in case I give him the answer he isn't looking for.

"You haven't heard about the uprisings in Districts 8 and 11, have you?" Snow asks me.

I shake my head, surprised. I haven't heard anything like that.

"Of course you wouldn't, because the Capitol has been doing everything they can to… suppress… these riots. To confine them," he explains. I continue to look at him, scared to breath.

"You're story is comforting, Ms. Everdeen. The fact that the Capitol can be so forgiving and allow two tributes to become Victor. When the Districts see you and Mr. Mellark on the Victory Tour I want them to think of the generosity of the Capitol, and not the rebellious act of some idiot girl. Is that clear?" Snow asks.

"Yes," I respond.

"Good. Now, I'm sorry to cut my visit short, but I have a prior engagement I must attend to," he tells me sadly, as if sitting here in my house is more enjoyable than some event in the Capitol.

Snow heads toward the door, but pauses when he sees one of Prim's hair ribbons sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. He slowly picks it up, studying it as if it holds the answer to a very important question.

"You're sister is lovely, Miss Everdeen," Snow says slowly. "I don't know if I told you this, but it was quite noble of you to volunteer for her."

I'm too afraid to speak. I don't like where this is going.

"We have a very special year coming up, don't we?" Snow continues.

I swallow and watch him carefully.

"The third Quarter Quell," he explains. "We already have an idea of what it will entail but, if I'm being frank with you Miss Everdeen, it really depends on you," he says as he runs his fingers through the ribbon. My grip on the sofa becomes vice-like, the knuckles on my hands turning bone-white.

"If you play your cards right we will leave you and you're family alone. We wouldn't want to see little Primrose's name in that bowl again, would we?" He gives me one last, long look and leaves my house, the only reminder of his presence the lingering smell of blood and roses.

I run to the kitchen and empty the contents of my stomach in the sink. I fall to my knees and rest my head on the cold wooden floor. Breathing in and out slowly, I try to collect myself before Prim and mother come back downstairs. Snow has been in my house less than twenty minutes and has successfully threatened everyone I care about.


	5. Chapter 5

**Peeta**

_Shit_, I think to myself. I stare down at the now useless bread batter. The consistency is completely wrong and I'll have to start over. I'm not going to have time to make enough loaves before my prep team comes in a few short hours.

I toss the bad batter into the garbage and I try to remember how I managed to mess it up in the first place. Maybe I added an extra egg. Or too much flour. The possibilities are endless, really, because I have no recollection of even starting this loaf.

I close my eyes and run my hands over my face. Maybe tonight I'll be able to get some sleep. _Just three straight hours. That's all I need. _Even as I hope, I know it's useless. I haven't sleep since leaving the arena. I can't. I know it's not insomnia because I'm constantly tired and fall asleep quite easily. The problem is I'm afraid to fall sleep. Afraid of what sleep usually brings. Every time I surrender to unconsciousness, I jolt awake soon after, sweating and convinced I'm in the arena, clutching Katniss' dead body to my chest.

I can't escape them, the dreams. Therefore, instead of sleeping I must find some way to occupy myself until dawn. Sometimes I paint, but seeing as I've run out of materials, I'll have to wait until I after I return from the Victory Tour to continue with that 'hobby'. Lack of painting supplies is a good thing, though. Right now, at least. I need to finish these extra loaves of bread before I leave tomorrow so I can bring them to the Hob.

If I don't have my painting to calm me, at least I have my baking. I tend to lose myself in it for hours, unaware of my surroundings and the passing time. But then I'll realize hours have passed and I have dozens of loaves of bread with no one to eat them and nowhere to put them.

That's when I first decided to go the Hob to give them away. I'm not stupid, of course. If Katniss is any representation of people from the Seam, those who usually frequent the Hob, trying to give away bread wouldn't be an easy task. But it gave me something to think about other than heartbreak and anxiety.

I remember quite clearly the first day I went.

_I'm not sure what time the Hob opens so I go in the middle of the day. I know the general location because of the conversations I used to overhear in the schoolyard. Most of those conversations were about what happened behind the slagheap, but I knew the Hob was nearby._

_I see an old warehouse with blacked out windows and peeling paint. It's quite an eyesore and I can't imagine anyone who would willingly explore the area so I know this must be where the black market is located. Hesitantly, I go around back and find what look's like an entrance. I walk into the Hob and am at first overwhelmed. There are at least 30 different stalls, all selling banned goods. I see an old man organizing bottles of liquor and know that is where Haymitch must be a regular costumer. I look around and see other various stalls, some selling fish and meat, others selling fabric and different kinds of trinkets. I have know idea where to start. There aren't many people here, most likely because they are all working the mines._

_I see an old woman in the corner of the market, ladling a unpleasant-looking concoction into dirty bowls. She seems to be quiet popular, though, because the few people who are in the Hob at this hour are at her stall. I wait until they leave before I make my move. Once I see her last customer depart, I heave my bag, full of bread, higher onto my shoulder and walk as confidently as I can in her direction._

"_I have a problem," I state. This woman seems to have a 'take no prisoners' kind of attitude. I have a feeling my usual 'softer' introductions won't work on her._

"_Sorry 'bout that handsome, but I don't think there's anythin' I can do," she glances at me quickly, dismissing me with a glare. I won't give up that easily._

"_But there is. You see, I've had a rough couple of months and can't sleep at night, so to pass the time I bake bread. A lot of it."_

_The woman studies me. Her eyes look grey but I can't be sure because of the filmy layer that covers them. I know she can't see me properly but she must recognize me from the televisions placed strategically around 12. The Hunger Games are mandatory viewing, after all. Besides, what other blonde-haired, blue-eyed merchant kid is going to stroll into the Hob on a weekday morning._

"_And I can't eat it all by myself," I continue. "I know there are people who come through here who could use an extra loaf or two," I explain slowly, careful to phrase my words correctly. Thanks to Katniss' explanation of 'owing' I know to be wary of how I articulate my argument._

"_Yeah well I'm not one of them, boy," she says as she goes back to her bowl of nasty looking soup. I can take a hint but I've come this far and I'm not taking 'no' for an answer._

"_I never assumed you were. But don't pretend you aren't aware that there are starving children out there. In the Seam, even in Town," I implore her._

_I see her turn around and look at a small child who I had previously mistaken for a pile of rags. The girl can't be more than seven years old and she looks at me sadly. Her face is thin. Too thin, and I can tell she is hungry. I can't help but experience a form of intense déjà vu and there is a tugging in my chest at the memory. I turn my attention back to the old woman._

"_I'm not asking for anything and I don't expect anything in return. Truly. Please, can you give these to the people you think are deserving? I would do it myself but I think that they would trust you more than they would me." I have nothing else to say, no other way to make myself believable, so I just stare this old woman down._

"_I know a few," she says. I take the bag off my shoulder and hand her the five loaves of bread I had brought with me. I didn't want to bring more, feeling it would have been overzealous. She takes them wordlessly. 'Victory', I think to myself._

"_I'll be back tomorrow," I tell her._

I've returned to the Hob every morning since, armed with loaves of bread that I baked in the dead of night because sleep wasn't and isn't an option.

There are ways I can remedy the situation. I could become dependent on sleep syrup. I could always become like Haymitch and pass out drunk every night of my life. Or I could become like those morphling addicts I heard about during my training before the Games. I could become a shell of person easily, but I don't want to. If the loaves of bread I bring to the Hob everyday bring salvage to at least one more person, I can't bring myself to stop. After all, I now know the affect a loaf of bread can have on a hungry person.

I look up at the shelf above the refrigerator. On it sits a jar of peanut butter, a delicious caramel colored paste that goes great with bread. I automatically think of Katniss. Yesterday we were baking. Well, I was baking and she was watching me. I had told her to quickly close her eyes. She protested of course, but I had told her to just trust me for once. That seemed to silence her for a moment so I had spread the peanut butter over a piece of warm sourdough bread and watched as Katniss ate the entire thing in less than a minute, her eyes closed the entire time. I remember the way she chewed the treat, her smile growing with each bite. When she was done she opened her eyes, looked up at me and smiled gloriously. It was the first time I can remember her smiling that openly in front of me since returning from the Games. _I'll have to remember to ask for peanut butter on the Victory Tour_, I think to myself.

I sigh. That's the reason I can't disappear into the dangerous world of alcohol and drugs. Small moments like that. That girl across the street who I am still hopelessly in love with makes me want to wake up in the morning and keep living.

I think about Katniss constantly. I remember in vivid detail when she told me she didn't love me on the train back from the Capitol and I wallowed like a pathetic fool. It was Haymitch, of course, who pulled me out of my depressed state. I needed that simple reminder that Katniss and I need to keep up the act for our own safety. That same day she came to me in the night, telling me she missed me and wanted to remain friends. I knew why she was there, of course. Haymitch must have talked to her too. I didn't care though. Even having her in my life again made me sleep relatively better at night. _I'll take it_, I remember thinking to myself.

Being around Katniss is bittersweet. She is a constant reminder of the fact that I don't have her. Sometimes when we are baking I believe I'm getting through to her, cracking through her rock solid emotional armor. But then, she leaves and I have to remind myself to not fall so deep. It's useless though. I've been a goner since day one. I briefly wonder what the Victory Tour will be like before I push the thought from my mind. I don't like to think about it too much. I know the act will have to be in full swing and part of me thinks I won't be able to do it. I can't even hug her without feeling heartbroken. Another part of me knows I have to. An even smaller part of me knows I won't be able to stay away.

Suddenly I hear a frantic knocking on the front door and I tear my eyes away from the jar of peanut butter.

"Peeta! Please, Peeta! Open the door!" Prim's shouting is startling and I run to the front door, throwing it open, preparing myself for a gruesome scene.

Prim is intact but completely hysterical. She isn't wearing shoes and she's wearing a thin nightgown. She is taking in large gulps of air through her sobs and I'm suddenly terrified.

"What's wrong?" I take Prim by the shoulders and gently shake her. "Prim, what is it?" my voice growing more frantic with each word.

"Katniss—" she starts and it turns out that's all I need. I don't hear the rest of Prim's sentence because I'm out of the door and running towards Katniss' house. I hear Prim's strangled sobs and I know she's close behind me.

"I think it's a nightmare but I don't know, it's never been this bad," she explains through her tears as I sprint up the steps of Katniss' porch. I can hear Katniss' screams from outside. I fling open her front door, bound up the stairs, and, following Katniss' screams, run into the first room I find.

Katniss is in her bed, twisting and thrashing around. Her eyes are shut closed tightly and she is releasing gut-wrenching shrieks from somewhere deep in her throat. I spot Katniss' mother trying to console her but it's clearly been fruitless. I look around wildly, unsure of what I should do.

"We can't wake her up," Prim sobs.

I can't take my eyes off of Katniss. She looks like she's being tortured and I can feel the panic rising in my chest. I'm frozen in place.

"Just try, Peeta, please?" Prim grabs my hand, pleading.

I rip my gaze from Katniss' contorted body and stare at Prim, wide-eyed. If Prim couldn't get her to wake up I'm not sure anyone can.

"You don't know the affect you have on her, please!" she begs. I'm baffled by Prim's words. Isn't it the other way around?

"Peeta, please?" she whispers.

I swallow the lump in my throat and I walk over the side of the bed where Mrs. Everdeen is trying to hold Katniss still. She has managed to restrain her arms, which are no longer flying around wildly. Katniss' neck is strained to the side. It looks like she is in physical pain. I've never seen her like this. Even in the Games she never looked this broken.

Slowly, I kneel down and hesitantly touch her face. Katniss screams even louder and I yank my hand back, as if I were electrocuted. I look up at Prim, who is still by the door. She nods her head, encouraging me. "Just try Peeta."

I look at Katniss who is twisting her head around, continuing to shriek. It's like one of my nightmares has come to life. I take a deep breath and despite my deepening fear, I gently take Katniss' arms from Mrs. Everdeen, who glances at me and then backs away.

"Katniss," I say her name with conviction. "Katniss, you're okay, Katniss." She seems to minutely calm at the sound of my voice, her screams dying down. Encouraged by her reaction, I continue to talk.

"Katniss, you're alright. It's not real, okay? It's not real," I repeat. She moans loudly, it's a heartbreaking sound. I study her face. Tears are now leaking out of her closed eyes. Her screams have died down but she still thrashes around, like she's trying to escape her own body.

She yells something unintelligible and I continue to speak to her, more softly this time. "Katniss, wake up. It's not real. Wake up," I repeat to her. Suddenly Katniss opens her eyes and looks around the room wildly. I take my hands off of her and watch her carefully.

Her eyes meet mine and for a moment we just stare at each other. Her grey eyes are blood-shot and her hair is wild. She breathes heavily, exhausted by her nightmare. We stare at one another, completely unaware of the other two people in the room. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding in.

"It wasn't real," I whisper and with that she starts to cry, sobs wracking her small body.

I can't stand it anymore. I'm too far away. This whole time I've been too far away. She refuses to let me in and I won't even try, afraid I might get hurt. _Enough_, I think to myself. I stand up from my kneeling position and sit on the side of her bed, scooping Katniss into my arms and hugging her against my chest. I'm surprised when Katniss throws her arms around me and buries her head into the crook of my neck. I hold her tightly, afraid to let go.

I look up at Prim who is staring at me in awe, the tears on her cheeks starting to dry.

"I'm sorry," Katniss says through her sobs and I switch my gaze back to her. My chest constricts.

"No, please. Don't be sorry, just calm down, we're all here and safe," I whisper into her hair. I continue to whisper comforting words as I hold her tightly to me, afraid she might disappear into her nightmare again. Slowly, after what seems like hours, Katniss sobs stop, replaced by silent tears that run down her cheeks like tiny streams. I look up to see Prim and Mrs. Everdeen watching the two of us.

"Thank you," Prim tells me, smiling sadly. I glance at Mrs. Everdeen, who is looking at Katniss and me intensely. I wonder how she feels about this. I barely know Mrs. Everdeen. Before tonight, I'd never actually met her and now I'm in her daughter's bed. If this were a different situation I would be mortified. She doesn't look angry, though. Just very sad. I watch her and Prim exit the room but before Mrs. Everdeen leaves she looks back at me, tears trailing down her face.

Slowly Katniss stops crying and she releases a shuttering sigh against my chest, which is now wet, my thin shirt covered in her tears. Her breaths become shallower and far apart and I know she is drifting off. Katniss is warm in my arms, her head resting on my chest, right above my heart. Her arms begin to droop from where she was holding on to me before.

Carefully, I lie Katniss down on her bed. I should go but I know, deep down, I won't be able to. Instead I pull her closely to me. Our heads rest on the same pillow, noses almost touching. I'm surprised when Katniss opens her eyes. We stare at each other for a long time. I can see the remaining tears that cling to her eyelashes. Her face is red and blotchy and she has never looked more beautiful.

I'm not sure what to say so I just place my hand on her cheek. To my surprise she doesn't shrug away. She looks exhausted, like she hasn't slept in days. I take a deep breath, unable to take my eyes off of her.

"I don't sleep either," I whisper.

Katniss blinks and looks back at me. Slowly, she lifts her hand and places it on my face, mirroring my own position.

I finally close my eyes, unable to keep them open. It must be after 3 in the morning and I'm so tired. I fall asleep with Katniss' hand on my face and sleep, really sleep, for the first time in months.

* * *

When I wake up I briefly forget where I am. It's a strange feeling, being well rested. Like I've slept for days without a single dream.

Katniss is sound asleep, having crawled even closer to me in the middle of the night. Her body is flush against mine, her hair tickling my nose.

I wish I could stay in this bed forever, Katniss curled up against me, her soft breathing lulling me back to sleep. But I know she will likely freak out if she wakes up and sees me so close. We've agreed to be friends, but friends don't hold each other throughout the night. Do they? Friends surely don't wake up with a very obvious hard on in the other friend's bed. I wonder how I can successfully navigate this situation. I friend would wait for the other to wake, they wouldn't leave the other alone. Especially not after last night. That's it. That's what I'll do.

The proximity is too much, though. Her hair smells incredible and she is so warm. I can see a sliver of skin from where her nightshirt has risen up. _A friend wouldn't be having the thoughts you're having now, Mellark,_ I think to myself. I know I should put some distance between us.

Very slowly, I try to inch away from Katniss but it proves to be quite difficult as she has her arms wrapped tightly around my torso. Gingerly, I pry myself loose and roll away from her. I sit up and look at her. Here eyes are still closed but she frowns, her arms searching the place where I once was.

Still drowsy, she opens her eyes and stares at me, a quizzical look on her beautiful face. I can't help but smile. Her cheeks turn a bright pink color and she switches her gaze to the yellow quilt covering her bed.

"Good morning," I say softly.

"Good morning," she whispers hoarsely, her voice still sore from last night's screaming. She rises from her lying position, and sits on the bed, still studying the yellow quilt.

"Are you leaving?" she asks. She seems sad, like she expects me to bolt after last night. She casts her big gray eyes on me and I know I'm not going anywhere.

"Not unless you want me to," I respond. _Please don't make me go, _I plead inwardly.

She pauses, studying her fingers. "I don't want you to leave." In my mind I do a happy dance. _Small steps, Mellark, small steps._

The room is silent again. Both of us looking for a way to bring up last night's events.

"How did you sleep?" I ask her.

"Well. Really well, actually," she responds and her cheeks turn another shade of pink. She looks like she is struggling to say something else. I can almost see the wheels turning in her mind.

I crawl over to her and put my hand under her chin, bringing her face into the morning light so I can properly look at it. There are heavy bags under her eyes, which are beginning to brim with tears. I pull her to me again, crushing her to my chest. Friends would do that, wouldn't they? Comfort the other?

"Peeta." The word is strangled. She is trying her hardest not to cry again and it's heartrending.

"Shh. I'm not going anywhere I promise," I whisper into her hair.

After a few moments Katniss pulls back and looks up at me.

"Thank you," she says.

"I would do it again. In a heartbeat," I answer. _Because I'm in love with you. Because I can't live without you._

Abruptly she pulls away and I can feel my expression drop.

"How did you find me?" she asks, genuinely curious. I forgot she wasn't awake for that part. At least her unshed tears seemed to have disappeared.

"Prim came to my house. She was upset and she said you were having a bad nightmare," I tell her simply. I don't go into details, knowing Katniss wouldn't like it.

"You shouldn't have seen that," she tells me with more conviction.

"Why?"

"Because I was pathetic," she states, disgusted with herself.

"You are not pathetic," I tell her forcefully. She still isn't looking at me. "I have them too you know," I tell her quietly. She glances at me, a look of relief on her face. It suddenly switches back to her impassive mask. _Be patient, Mellark._

"Yeah well you don't wake up the entire neighborhood and need to be held all night," she murmurs, bright red. _I wish you were there when I wake up, though_, I think. Friends definitely don't say that. Instead I try to inquire more about the dream.

"Will you tell me what happened? Prim said it's never that bad."

Katniss pauses, looking out the window, the morning light casting shadows on her face. After a few moments she speaks.

"Snow came here. Yesterday."

I feel sick. How did I not know? Damn my catatonic baking! I'm furious and afraid at the same time, a lethal combination.

"What? Why didn't you tell me? I would've come to you. I would've—" My tirade is interrupted by Katniss.

"I didn't know he would be here. At my house, I mean. And before I knew it he was gone." I think she's trying to comfort me but it doesn't work. I look at Katniss and she turns away, focusing on the yellow quilt again.

"Why did he come?" I ask her, softly. I'm scared to know the answer.

She pauses before she speaks again, like she is thinking about the question herself. Finally she settles on an answer.

"Why didn't he come would probably be a better question."

Classic Katniss. Evading the question. I look at her expectantly and she sighs.

"He came to warn me to never hunt again. He came to tell me to tell Gale to never hunt again or else there would be punishments." She pauses again, collecting herself.

"He came about the act. He doesn't buy it and he said I'm not believable." She looks at me, a strange expression on her face. She doesn't continue and I'm about to speak when Katniss carries on in a whisper.

"He said if I don't keep up the act, Prim will be reaped for the Quarter Quell."

I understand her fear now. I understand where her nightmare came from. I want to hug her again but she is withdrawn, avoiding my eyes. She instead gazes out the window at the rising sun.

"Prim will be fine, Katniss. We will keep up the act and that will satisfy them, right? Everyone will be alright," I insist. I don't believe my own words, though. I'm beginning to feel dizzy. I have a feeling this entire situation is out of our control.

I think Katniss understands that as well. She continues to look out the window, nodding along with me. I think I see her eyes begin to water again.

I switch the subject. "Did you warn Gale?"

"Yes. I went to his house in the Seam last night after Snow left. I don't think he'll do it anymore. Hunting, I mean."

Even after Katniss' affirmation that Gale is just a friend I can't help the wave of jealousy that washes over me. I shouldn't be jealous, though. I should just be furious at myself. For not talking to Katniss before we were reaped. Maybe if I had tried harder we wouldn't be in this situation. Maybe there would be no 'act' to begin with. Maybe it would be real.

I swallow and look at Katniss, her mouth in her signature frown. I want to hold her but I know she will object. _Friends, Mellark. Remember?_ Nonetheless I feel the pull. My fingers itch. I want to touch her face. To smooth out the wrinkle above her nose that means she thinking something over.

"Listen to me. I won't let anything happen to you. I won't let anything happen to Prim. Gale is smart, he will find another way to get food." It's the only comfort I can offer in this moment. My words and my reason.

She looks at me, her frown dissipating and her wrinkle becoming less pronounced. I look back at her intensely, silently trying to communicate how I feel. I see her cheeks grow pink and she switches her gaze to the window again.

"It's almost eight. You're family is probably worried."

I know she's trying to get me to leave so I start to get off the bed. The funny thing is my family doesn't even know where I am.

"I doubt they're worried," I mumble.

"Why?" Katniss says, looking over at me again. I stare back at her, she's only known love from her family, even in her mother's depression. She won't understand but I explain anyway.

"I live alone. My family lives above the bakery still." She furrows her brow, confused, so I continue.

"My family isn't close like yours, Katniss. My brothers work at the bakery. They're happy to see me, of course, but they don't know how to act around me anymore. My father loves me in his own way… but its like I'm damaged goods. Useless. I make them uncomfortable. They don't know how to treat me. I think my mother would have been happier if I just died in the arena. Better for everyone probably."

It would have been better, wouldn't it? Katniss would have been the lone victor. No "berries incident". No star-crossed lovers. No act.

I'm surprised when Katniss moves to kneel beside me on the bed. She grabs my face, a little roughly and forces me to look at her, eyes blazing.

"No. You needed to survive," she says, almost angrily. She continues to speak, a hint of panic in her voice. "I don't know what would have happened to me if I left you. Do you understand, me? I can't…" She is struggling for the correct words to say. "I… I would have disappeared. I would have become a ghost of a person," she says.

"You needed to survive," she says softly, imploring me with her eyes. Oddly, I believe her.

"Ok," I whisper. We stare at each other a few more seconds before she hastily removes her hands from my face and backs away. _There she goes again_, I think. Every time I make a crack in her damn armor she builds it up again.

"I probably should go. Our prep teams will be here any minute. They'd probably explode if they saw us in here together." I smile to myself, imagining Effie walking in on Katniss and me in bed together.

I climb off the bed and stretch, my body stiff from sleep. The feeling isn't unwelcome, though, I slept incredibly, even if it was only for a few hours. I look over at Katniss. She's gotten out of bed as well and is looking out the window, her face unreadable.

"See you soon, Katniss," I tell her.

She looks at me, her brow set in a straight line. I walk toward the door but don't get very far. Katniss grabs my hand and pulls me into a tight hug.

"Thank you, Peeta. For everything," she says, her words thick with emotion. I hug her back, not wanting to let go. Afraid of releasing her and watching her climb back up into her emotional fortress. It's exhausting. It's maddening. It's hopeless and either way I know I will keep coming back.

I pull away from her, looking down into her grey eyes.

"Always," I promise.


	6. Chapter 6

After Peeta leaves I busy myself with cleaning up my bedroom. Pillows are scattered around the floor and the bed's a complete mess. I think back to last night. I've never had a nightmare that terrifying, including the dark times after my father died.

My hands start to shake again as I think about my dream. Everyone died. Prim, Gale, Peeta, and my mother. Cinna and my prep team. Haymitch and even Effie. They were all executed. By me. I was watching myself murder everyone I know and there was nothing I could do about it.

It was Peeta who pulled me out of it. I don't know how it happened. One second I was watching myself send arrow after arrow through Prim and the next second I could feel Peeta's breath on my face, telling me to wake up.

And I did.

He stayed with me the whole night and my chest tugs annoyingly at the memory. I pause while making my bed. Peeta fell asleep before I did. Once I was sure he was asleep I allowed myself to move closer to him, even though I knew it was a terrible idea. I concentrated on the sound of his breathing and light rain on the roof. It reminded me of our time in the cave during the Hunger Games; the only time I felt relatively safe. I slept incredibly.

I touch the place in the bed where we laid together. It's still warm. I'm sure it still smells like him too. Sugar and vanilla and that strange smell I can't quite pinpoint. I don't smell the bed though, that would be pathetic. Instead I wash my face free of my dried tears and attempt to comb my hair, which has begun to resemble a bird's nest. I debate waiting for my prep team to do it themselves but I know I wouldn't be able to explain how it got that way.

Just as I am about to start attacking my hair I hear a knock on the door.

"Come in," I yell, although my voice comes out as more of a strangled noise. I guess it still hasn't recovered from last night.

"Katniss?"

Prim peaks her head around the side of the bathroom door. She looks at me like I might jump out and attack her, which is understandable after the way I acted last night.

"Hi Little Duck," I say in a false cheerful voice. I might as well start acting now, knowing I'm going to have to do it constantly for the next two months. Practice makes perfect, after all.

"You don't have to pretend with me, you know," Prim answers, her voice steady.

I stop brushing my hair and look at her. On her face is a solemn expression and her eyes are blood-shot, like she's been crying.

"Are you going to talk to me about last night?" she asks.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," I reply, turning my gaze toward the mirror again. That seems to be my answer to everything lately.

Prim stares at me a long time, watching me attempt to pull the knots out of my hair. After a while she walks over to me, takes the brush out of my hands, leads me to the bed and tells me to sit down. I'm confused by her sudden authoritativeness but comply anyway. She sits behind me on the bed and gently starts to brush the knots out of my hair.

"I thought a lot last night about what I've put you through," Prim says sadly.

I start to argue with her but am interrupted.

"Please, let me finish," Prim asks. I nod, causing the brush to snag on one of the knots in my hair, making me wince.

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have gone to the Hunger Games. You wouldn't have experienced all this pain. I wish you didn't volunteer for me sometimes. But then I realize that I don't know what would have become of you when I didn't return."

I stare at my hands, unable to stop the tears from trailing down my cheeks.

"I love you for giving me another chance at life, Katniss, because we both know I never would have made it out of the arena. I never said 'thank you'." Prim pauses, collecting herself. "So thank you. So much. I will never be able to repay you," she whispers to me. I can hear the pain in her voice. The tears on my cheeks are now falling steadily onto my lap. I deeply hope Prim doesn't have the same 'debt-owing' trait that I have. It gets complicated when we feel the need to repay those we care about.

"I know that I don't understand a lot about the Capitol and the way it works, so there are a lot of things I can't help you with. But I'm not a little girl, anymore." Prim stops brushing my hair, laying it flat across my back. I turn around to look at her, willing my tears to stop.

"But if there is anything you need to know, it's that I am here for you. You can tell me things and I will listen. I can try to help," she pleads.

I stare into her eyes. Her expression is steady and I realize that during this entire conversation, she never shed a tear. When did Prim become so strong? It's like we've switched roles. I used to be the one brushing her hair. I used to be the one comforting her. It's strange how things turn around.

I don't know what to say so I stare down at my hands. Prim waits for me to speak but gives up after a few moments.

"Peeta loves you. You know that, right?"

I nod, tears starting to prick at the corners of my eyes again and I pray they don't fall. I can still feel his hand, heavy on my cheek, and although I know I shouldn't over-think it, it makes my heart beat a little faster. Prim looks at me, deep in thought.

"And you have to pretend to be in love with him. To keep everyone safe," she states.

I nod again. I've given up trying to understand how and when Prim became so perceptive.

"Why don't you stop pretending?" she asks.

"What do you mean?" I can feel my brow furrow in confusion. Stop pretending and give up the act? And put everyone in danger again?

"Stop pretending and start to actually love him," she states again.

I stare at her, dumbfounded.

Prim, despite the seriousness of the situation, rolls her eyes at me and giggles.

"Just let yourself fall in love with Peeta, Katniss. I don't know why you keep fighting it. It's there. You just hide it so well that I think you've fooled yourself."

I start to bristle. Prim has been on my case about Peeta since day one and I _don't_ love him.

"I'm not in love with Peeta, Prim," I tell her sternly. "Besides, it's better that I don't love him. Everyone I love is put in danger." Why can't anyone understand my dilemma?

Prim looks at me, her face sad. I remember her earlier comment_. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have gone to the Hunger Games. You wouldn't have experienced all this pain. _I automatically feel guilty and want to take back what I said.

"Katniss, he's already in danger," she tells me softly.

I stare back her, unable to respond. She's right. He is already in danger. And he already loves me. But I don't want to love him. Loving Peeta would make me just another one of Snow's puppets and that thought makes me sick. Everyone I love gets hurt. I can't do that to Peeta. There's no denying that I care about him. Peeta calms me. I feel safe with him. But I don't love him. I can't.

"I'll think about it Prim," I tell her. I know it's the only way to get her off my back for the time being.

Prim sighs and rolls her eyes at me again. I tug her braid and she swats my hand away. _Back to normal_, I think to myself.

* * *

According to my prep team, I am a disaster. Apparently the mere weeks we spent apart did a number on my hair, nails and skin so Flavius, Venia and Octavia need to work overtime to get me back to 'beauty base zero'. While they chatter around me, plucking, waxing, snipping and buffing away all of my imperfections, I have time to let my thoughts wander. I think about my conversation with Gale at his house in the Seam before my midnight meltdown.

I had run over there directly after Snow left and knocked incessantly on Gale's door until he opened it. At first he looked thrilled to see me. Maybe he thought I had changed my mind and wanted to declare my love for him after all. But then he saw the look on my face and he hurriedly pulled me into his house.

I told him everything. Everything that didn't involved Peeta, at least. I told him to not hunt again, explaining the gravity of the situation. Usually he would have been stubborn about it, but I believe my general state of absolute panic convinced him otherwise. I told him to be careful of hidden cameras or recording devices. But I also asked something of him. Something that I might regret: I told him to try and collect the materials needed for me to make my own bow and set of arrows. I told him he should do the same. _For protection only_. I just don't feel safe without them and knowing I won't be able to retrieve my originals, I needed to ask Gale this favor. I can't help but think it might have been a bad idea.

Octavia orders me to turn around and I do as I am told. _It's like I'm their doll_, I think.

I wonder what Peeta is doing now. He never takes as long as I do to get ready. He's probably on the train right now, waiting for me. I wonder if he said goodbye to his family. I frown, remembering our conversation this morning. How can his family treat Peeta the way they do? Peeta is one of the only inherently good people I know. The thought of someone treating him poorly makes me furious.

"Perfect. You can call Cinna now," I hear Venia tell Flavius and I am brought out of my daydreaming.

I'm still in the bathroom at my house. I think the Capitol made my bathroom enormous for the sole reason of housing an entire prep team comfortably. I look at my reflection in the mirror. I still look like myself, only...more attractive. _Beauty base zero,_ I remember.

The door to the bathroom opens and Cinna walks in, wearing his signature black suit and gold eyeliner. I smile. I almost forgot that I actually like him. He's not a typical Capitol citizen—despite the fact that he works for the Hunger Games, he understands it's more than just a television program.

"Katniss," he says and pulls me into a quick hug. "I'm so happy to see you again. However I'm sure you wish it wasn't so soon," he says meaningfully. He motions for me to turn around in a circle.

"You look marvelous by the way."

I grimace.

"Yeah, well apparently you should have seen me before Venia, Octavia and Flavius did their magic," I tell him, a hint of edge to my voice. My body still hurts from their primping.

Cinna just smiles and leads me to my bedroom. He opens a small bag and takes out a pair of black pants and a simple white t-shirt.

"I want you to be comfortable so you'll find clothing similar to this in your compartment on the train. Wear them during your down time. I've prepared some things for your district tours and interviews as well as your time in the Capitol."

"Thank you," I tell him, relieved he remembered how I prefer comfort to style.

"I hate to cut our little meeting short but it's time to board the train. Effie is waiting until you to arrive before she explains the Tour in more detail."

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. I don't want to go back to the Capitol. I don't want to convince Snow of my love for Peeta. I don't want to relive the Games.

Cinna smiles and places a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"It's just the Victory Tour, this time," he says softly. _If only he knew_, I think.

* * *

I say my goodbyes to Prim and mother quickly and surprisingly there are no more tears for today. I remember that the Victory Tour is meant to be happy, exciting and fun. I will be able to see the country. To do and experience things I would never be able to do. But at what cost?

There are no Capitol photographers outside my house in the Victor's Village, or even at the train station; they are waiting for us in District 11. I'm happy that I get to delay that part of the experience because I can't say I'm ready to be assaulted by flashbulbs and video cameras yet.

I board the train and follow Cinna as he heads directly to the dining compartment. Once I arrive, Effie, who is wearing a lime-green pantsuit covered in tiny jewels, assaults me. Her hair is bright orange and arranged on the top of her head quite precariously. Her face has been tanned considerably since I saw her last and she is wearing green lenses in her eyes to match her outfit.

"Katniss, darling! I've missed you so much. You look spectacular, of course. Your signature style- what is it again, Cinna? Zero beauty or something? Never mind, sit and we can get started!"

Effie is talking a mile a minute and it's hard to understand her through her Capitol accent, which seems to have become even thicker since the last time I saw her. Maybe she feels more entitled now that she is the mentor to a winning district. Nevertheless, I try to be as polite as I can.

"It's nice to see you too, Effie," I say, a smile plastered on my face. The more I look at her, the more ridiculous she seems. I try to suppress my laugh.

I turn my attention to the table. I am the last to arrive and everyone is already seated. The first person I notice is Peeta, who is wearing an outfit quite similar to my own, only his shirt is black and his pants are tan. He grins at me and I try to smile back. His hair has been trimmed back to the length it was during the Games. Other than that, he doesn't seem different at all. This, at least, makes me happy. I don't want the Capitol changing him more than they already have. I note that he looks well rested too. I feel my cheeks heat up, remembering our last encounter.

Quickly, avoiding his eyes, I take my seat next to Peeta. I glance at Haymitch, who looks quite drunk. I don't blame him this time. Technically our lives aren't in the balance and I know he must need some sort of alcohol-lubrication to tolerate Effie.

"You don't look like you were tortured by your prep team this morning," I tell Peeta.

"That's because my prep team actually likes me," he jokes. I roll my eyes and look at Cinna. Maybe if I'm nicer to them they won't put me through all the waxing and plucking. Cinna just winks at me.

"Aren't you two lovebirds just the absolute cutest!" Effie squeals. I look up at Effie and put on my Capitol smile. She smiles brightly back at me, her teeth are almost blindingly white.

"The Capitol is dying to see you two again! You have been the talk of the town for weeks! Peeta, darling, I forgot to tell you when you came in before: your posters have been selling like crazy! Those Capitol women can't seem to get enough of you!"

My stomach drops to my feet and I can feel my face drain of color. I clench my fists and glare at the silverware on the table, remembering my conversation with Snow. _He could very well become the next Finnick Odair._ I look up to see Peeta grinning broadly at me, eyebrow quirked.

"Jealous?" he mouths.

I scowl and flick his ear. He winces, and then looks up at me, a mock-wounded expression on his face.

I hear Effie giggle and I look up at her.

"Don't, worry Katniss, they all know he's taken. That's probably the reason those posters are selling so well. Anyway, let's get started, shall we? First of all, I must say I'm so excited to go on this Tour with you. Remember it's my first time on the Victory Tour as well!" Effie gushes.

I forgot that this is new to Effie too. I guess she does have a reason to be excited. I wonder if her new look is for the Tour.

"We will spend approximately three days in each district, addressing the people, giving interviews, going on tours and such. You will have to make a speech in front of all the districts, by the way."

I blanche and look over at Peeta.

"Don't worry, I'll do it," he smiles at me and takes my hand under the table. His hand is soft and warm and I'm surprised that I don't want to pull away. Meanwhile, Effie continues to talk.

"Then you will spend about a week in the Capitol, going to events, doing interviews (with Caesar of course). The whole tour will end in a fabulous party and then we will come back to District 12. It's going to be amazing. We start with the less exciting districts so tomorrow we will be in District 11."

Usually the Victory Tour starts in District 12. I take no offense that 12 is considered the 'least exciting' by Capitol standards.

I stiffen when I realize District 11 is Rue's and I start to feel my hands shake. Peeta squeezes the one he is holding, a sign that he's still here. I hold onto it for dear life.

I peek back up at him and see him regarding me curiously. Last night was a massive turning point. From the looks of it, he can't pretend it didn't happen. I don't think I can either.

Does he think I'll break down again? I honestly don't know, especially when it comes to District 11. Can I face Rue's family after failing her? After watching her die in my arms? I feel my eyes start to itch. Peeta puts his other hand on my chin and turns me so I'm facing him. His blue eyes are penetrating.

"I will help you. You will be fine," he whispers. I want him to take his hand away but it just reminds me of last night. His hand is warm and soft and I believe him. Because that's what we do. Help each other.

Not three weeks ago Peeta and I were barely able to hold a conversation. Now I seem to be completely reliant on him to hold myself together. _When did I become so weak?_

I nod my head and quickly turn my attention back to Effie, afraid she will question our small exchange. Luckily she remains oblivious, still rattling off about the Victory Tour. She talks for about 10 more minutes but I'm not listening. My mind is with Rue in the field where she died.

Finally dinner is brought out. I'm ravenous and inhale everything on my plate, not caring what Effie thinks of my table manners.

After the dishes are taken away, Effie stands up.

"Lovely. You two need some sleep if you're going to be in perfect form for tomorrow. To bed, everyone!"

I try to remember when Effie developed the "Queen of the World" attitude she now possesses. I see Haymitch roll his eyes and Cinna smirk at Portia. They seem to be aware of this mood change as well, but tolerate it with much more dignity than I would.

Effie saunters out of the room, probably to her own compartment to look at herself in the mirror or spend hours planning her outfit for tomorrow. Cinna and Portia leave soon after, but not before telling Peeta and me that they will be at our rooms at 8 am sharp to prepare for our District 11 address.

Haymitch, unsteady in his drunken state, wobbles to the door but turns around just as he is about to leave.

"See you two tomorrow," he slurs. "You know what you gotta do." He looks pointedly at me and I nod.

I start to stand and realize I've been holding Peeta's hand through all of dinner. I look at him and see he's staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts. I let go of his hand and, suddenly, as if remembering where he is, he looks back at me with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"This is going to be fun," he deadpans.

"Yes but only if I can get my hands on one of Effie's suits."

"I want one too, then," Peeta laughs.

I smile slightly, happy I am able to cheer him up somewhat. Sometimes I forget that Peeta has demons of his own. We aren't too different, are we?

"Listen," he pauses, searching for the right words. "About tomorrow…"

I look at him, relieved, thinking he was going to bring up last night.

"I know we agreed to be friends. And friends don't kiss and cuddle in front of the cameras, but it needs to happen, doesn't it?" He looks worried and his eyes are large, searching mine for confirmation.

"Yes, I know." I'm dreading tomorrow. I think over how I'm supposed to be madly in love with Peeta. I'm a terrible actress and apparently the people who matter know it.

"Ok," he says softly, almost as if he's relieved I agree with him.

"Just try not to fall too hard for me, got it?" he says with a glint in his eye. I know he's joking but his words hit me with a force I wasn't suspecting. I watch him close the door to the dining compartment with wide-eyes, remembering what Prim said to me earlier today.

* * *

The next morning passes in a blur. I didn't sleep last night, afraid my nightmares would wake up the whole train, so I'm sipping the coffee Octavia shoved at me waiting for Peeta to join me in the dining compartment.

I look out the window at District 11, wondering what lies beyond the train station. District 11 is in charge of agriculture and Rue said she worked in the fields so I know they must surround us. I just wish I could see them. I want to see the real District 11, not whatever false version the Capitol wants to show us.

I turn when I hear Peeta coming. The metal clink of his prosthetic leg is an easy way of telling his footsteps apart from others. He opens the door, greets me and sits down, helping himself to breakfast. He is wearing a loose-fitting white button-up shirt and khaki pants. His hair is combed back and held in place with a soft gel. He looks...good.

"Good morning," Peeta says. His eyes travel down my body before they rest on my own. "You look beautiful," he says before he tears his eyes away from mine, a blush creeping across his cheeks. He turns his attention back to his breakfast.

"Thank you," I reply.

I _do_ look beautiful, thanks to Cinna and my prep team of course. I'm wearing a beige dress. The bodice is fitted and made to resemble woven stalks of grain. My hair is pulled back into a loose bun with thin braids holding it in place. Cinna, as promised, didn't put me in a lot of makeup, _thank god_, simply focusing on making my cheeks rosy and eyes pronounced.

I continue to sip my coffee and look out the window, thinking about Rue and mockingjays. _I hate coffee._

"Have this," Peeta says, bringing my attention back to the table. He is holding a piece of bread with a caramel colored substance spread over the top.

I smile and take the peanut butter sandwich from him.

"I didn't know they would have this," I say happily.

"I told them you liked it," Peeta replies. I look up at him, and smile. This is by far my new favorite food. I like it even more than the Capitol's lamb stew. I grab the bread and take a giant bite, successfully making a mess of myself.

"Thank you, Peeta," I say through my chewing. He gives me a giant smile and points to my nose. I hastily wipe the peanut butter off my face before Effie can come and scold me- I hear her heeled shoes clicking down the hallway.

"Today is going to be a big, big, big day! Are you both ready? How exciting!"

I look at Peeta and he rolls his eyes. It's very uncharacteristic of him...I like it. Luckily he is facing away from her so she can't see him do it.

"Both of you follow me," she orders. I decide I hate this new controlling Effie much more than I hated the old one.

I shove the last bit of peanut butter into my mouth and get up from my seat.

"Katniss," Effie gasps. "Ladies do not eat that way, goodness! Peeta, I don't know how you deal with it. Manners." she complains as she makes her way down the hall.

I look up at Peeta and he just stares straight ahead, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

We follow Effie out of the dining compartment and through the hallway. I see Haymitch waiting by the door looking worse for wear. He is sipping something but I'm not sure if it's alcohol or some remedy to cure his hangover. He nods at Peeta and me, not bothering to speak.

Peeta grabs my hand as we approach the door that opens to the station. I glance at him and give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. _This will be fine_, I think. Effie smiles gloriously at us before she exits the train. I can see the blinding lights of the cameras set up outside the train as they go off. They want to capture the star-crossed lovers as they first descend the steps into District 11, the first stop on the Victory Tour. Effie told us that every part of our Tour will be documented and every few days a recap will be given to the people of the Capitol. According to her, a 'magnificent' montage will play at the closing party the Capitol will throw us.

I hear Effie make a small speech introducing us before the doors to the train are thrown open and Haymitch nudges us out the door.

Instinctually I hold Peeta tighter and he brings me closer to his side. The cameras take a few seconds to get used to. I see a dozen or so Capitol reporters set up outside the station, all of who are shouting at Peeta and me.

"Katniss! This way Katniss!"

"Peeta! Look over here!"

I put on my Capitol smile and start waving with my free hand. The other is gripping Peeta's tightly.

"Kiss her, Peeta!"

"Why are you holding back, lovebirds! Give us a kiss!"

The demands don't seem like they are going to stop so I look at Peeta. He is still waving to the cameras, a glorious smile gracing his face. _He's so much better at this than I am, _I think.

"Kiss her Peeta!"

Hearing the Capitol photographers' incessant requests, he turns to me, letting go of my hand. We stare at each other briefly in a silent agreement. _For the cameras_.

Slowly, he brings his hands up to my face, placing one on my neck, the other on my cheek. I concentrate on his eyes as the world outside disappears.

Peeta's smile fades as he pulls me closer to him. He glances quickly at my mouth and licks his lips. I've stopped breathing altogether. I've kissed Peeta a hundred times, why is this any different? I can hear Prim nagging me in the back of my mind and hastily push her away.

I can't take my eyes away from his. He is holding me in this moment and time has stopped altogether. Peeta lowers his face to mine, and my eyes flutter closed.

His lips are soft, warm, and gone before I have time to fully register that they were there to begin with. My eyes fly open, my hands still around Peeta's neck. I hear a few photographers chuckle, probably at me.

We are still being photographed so Peeta smiles and plants a quick kiss on my nose.

Flustered, I turn back to the cameras and give the photographers another Capitol-worthy smile despite my newfound bewilderment. I'm completely dazed, staring off into space and waving my hand like a robot, so when Peeta whispers in my ear I'm startled.

"Wake up, sweetheart."

He's smiling at me with his eyebrows raised in question. My Capitol-smile falters for only a moment when I look at him. I hear Effie clicking towards us and I give the photographers one last wave before she escorts us to a car that will take us to the square where we will greet District 11 formally.

Peeta holds the door open for me and I clamber into the car, unable to focus on the task at hand. _Snap out of it! _I yell inwardly.

Peeta climbs in after me, drapes his arm around my shoulders and grabs hold of my hand again. _He's warm_. The door closes behind us and the noise from the station dies down. Effie chatters the entire ride into town but the only thing I can focus on is the feel of Peeta's arms around me. I rip my gaze away from our entwined hands, refusing to acknowledge that any of this is happening, and instead focus on the scenery of District 11.

It is warmer than District 12. While the leaves were just starting to turn up north, down here they are still green and the trees still full. Through them I can see what must be miles upon miles of fields where I know they must harvest the food that is transported to all of Panem. I note that District 11 is a lot more open than 12 is. While I need to escape into the woods to experience nature, it's all around us in District 11. It's beautiful. I wonder if the other districts are like this.

"I'll do the speech, Katniss. I know District 11 will difficult for you." Peeta whispers to me.

For a blessed moment I had forgotten my connection to this district. My hands start to shake and I can feel the corners of my eyes begin to prick again, unable to escape from my memories of Rue.

Peeta squeezes my hand tighter and holds my gaze.

"I'm here, remember?" he whispers. I nod, pushing my thoughts of Rue to the back of my mind.

For the rest of the ride I concentrate on building up my emotional wall that was so expertly shattered by Peeta's kiss. I can feel myself becoming more distant and disconnected. _Just get through today_, I tell myself.

We arrive at District 11's justice building, which looks much like the Justice Building in 12: large, concrete and grey. We are ushered through the large doors and down a long hall. I stare at my feet and look up only when Effie leaves the building to make another speech, this time in front of the people of District 11.

"And now, the moment you've been waiting for. Your very own Victors from the 74th annual Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark."

The doors are thrown open again and we walk, hand in hand, to the podium, where we wave to the crowd, shake hands with the Mayor and then take a seat next to Effie.

The Mayor of District 11 is tall with dark hair and dark eyes. His speech is very much like Mayor Undersee's whenever the Victory Tour comes to District 12. There is no flowery language or grand gestures, we are too aware of the atrocities the Hunger Games bring to openly celebrate them like some of the other districts.

After a few moments, I can detect a small edge to the Mayor's voice. My years of hunting has made me perceptible to changes in tone and body language. The Mayor's speech is laced with a strange undercurrent and I can feel the people of District 11 responding.

I look out at the crowd and see a few men and women discretely taping three fingers of their right hand to their right leg. _Strange_.

I don't have time to observe this further because it's our turn to talk. Peeta and I walk toward the podium and I stare out into the sea of faces that surround us. I look around for Rue's family, trying to remember what she said they look like, but I can't find them.

"Thank you, District 11, for inviting Katniss and myself to your home. As you may already know, our fellow tributes from District 11 hold a very special place in our hearts."

I'm gripping Peeta's hand so tightly I know it must be painful but he pays it no notice as he continues to speak.

"Rue was very special to Katniss." Peeta pauses, squeezing my hand. There's nothing else he can say about her. Everyone watched us during the Games. They saw me break down after she died. They saw me send an arrow through the neck of the boy that killed her.

"I didn't know Thresh well. During our time in the training center, the Careers approached him looking to ally. Thresh refused. I respect him greatly for that."

I look up at Peeta, whose facial expression has become unreadable.

"The two tributes from District 11 saved our lives in many ways, as well. Their compassion didn't go unnoticed and I'm proud to have met both of them. Thank you, District 11, for providing Panem with such amazing children."

I tug on Peeta's hand and he looks down at me, alarmed.

"I want to say something," I tell him softly. He looks concerned but steps out of the way. I take a step forward and clear my throat. The sound reverberates throughout the square. I don't look into the faces of the crowd, scared that I might see Rue in all of them. Instead I look beyond the fields to the horizon.

"Thank you, District 11, for the bread."

I'm surprised to find my voice is much steadier than I anticipated. I hear a faint four-note tune from the back of the crowd and slowly, it starts to fill the square. I have nothing else to say because Peeta did it all so beautifully. I step back, clutching Peeta's hand tightly.

I look back at the horizon and focus on the way the wind pushes and pulls the stalks of grain in the wheat fields. The sounds of the Rue's four-note tune fills my ears and I can almost imagine her here with me until a single gunshot interrupts the melody.

I look around wildly to see where it came from but Peeta and I are being pulled away by two very menacing looking Peacekeepers. Peeta brings me to his side tightly, not letting me go even when we are behind the doors of the District 11 Justice Building.

I hear more gunshots outside followed by gut-wrenching screams. Terrified, I look up at Peeta, who looks equally alarmed. I glance nervously around the Justice Building. I can't find Effie.

Before I can start to panic, the Peacekeepers usher us to a different room, deeper inside the Justice Building, and I'm relieved to see Haymitch and Effie are already here. Both of them start to speak at the same time.

"Katniss! Peeta! Thank goodness! I was absolutely terrified. What in God's name is happening out there?" Effie nearly screams.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" Haymitch yells angrily.

Effie looks at Haymitch, alarmed.

"Listen up, sweet cheeks, that was nothing out there. District 11 is pretty rowdy. Just precautions."

Effie seems relieved but glares at Haymitch when she can't find an appropriate retort. She walks to the far side of the room, searches in her handbag and pulls out a small mirror before she busies herself with fixing her makeup.

"Meet me outside the train once we get back." Haymitch whispers to us once Effie is successfully distracted.

* * *

The car ride back to the train is quiet. Peeta holds me tightly and I sink into his embrace a little too willingly. Once we reach the train, Peeta and I tell Effie we need some air and walk a few yards down the tracks to wait for Haymitch.

Once he arrives Haymitch leads us even farther down, away from the prying eyes of the Peacekeepers guarding the train doors.

"What the hell was that? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Haymitch bellows. It's a good thing the train engine is loud or else we would be overheard.

"What do you mean? We're supposed to make a speech, what did we do wrong?" Peeta asks, both worried and annoyed by Haymitch's tone.

"Do you honestly think the Capitol needs more reason to fire down on these people? They already had to squash two uprisings in District 11 since the last Games ended."

My stomach turns to lead. I had completely forgotten about the uprisings. I was so distracted with Peeta and Prim and Rue that the thought of spurring another uprising never occurred to me.

Peeta and I speak at the same time.

"How were we supposed to know if no one told us?" Peeta retorts.

"How did you find out about the uprisings?" I ask Haymitch quietly.

Haymitch looks at me suspiciously.

"My buddy Chaff is from District 11. Told me just now or else I would have warned you." Haymitch studies me for a few seconds. "You knew?"

I nod my head slowly, remembering Snow's threat. _The Capitol has been doing everything they can to…suppress…these riots._

"You knew about this? And you didn't tell me?" Peeta asks me incredulously.

I stare at him and nod. I was supposed to tell him. Snow basically ordered me to tell him.

"Snow told me when he came to visit," I say quietly, regret eating at my insides.

Various emotions cross Peeta's face: fear, hurt, then anger.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he murmurs.

"I forgot. With everything that happened, I forgot to." I tell him quietly. I have no other excuse.

Peeta drops my hand and backs away from me. I didn't even realize he was holding it.

"You forgot. You _forgot_ to tell me about the uprisings in District 11. Even after I told you I was going to form a speech?"

I'm unable to form words so I just stare at him, panic rising in my chest.

"Did you not think it was important for me to know?" he asks harshly.

I shake my head. "There was so much going on, I thought you'd be smart enough! Besides, I messed up too! I caused that out there too!" _I just forgot, Peeta, I swear._

"Damn it, Katniss," he shouts. I'm surprised by his outburst. He's kept himself together so well these past few days that seeing him lose control is strange and alarming.

"It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that you're keeping things from me! When were you planning to tell me, huh?"

I honestly don't know. There are a lot of things I discussed with Snow that I didn't plan on telling Peeta. I'm ashamed at my stupidity.

I open my mouth, searching for words.

"You weren't going to tell me." He states.

I shake my head, frantically. _I would have if I had realized! I just forgot!_

"I can't believe you." Peeta whispers. "This is so much bigger than you and me. Do you realize how much danger I put everyone in? I _killed_ those people, Katniss!" Once the realization hits him, his face looses color. "If only I knew." His voice is pained as he turns away from me. I feel sick, desperately searching my mind for the correct way to handle this situation. But I'm not the one who's good with words. I look to Haymitch for help but he just watches Peeta warily.

After a few seconds Peeta turns around, his eyes steely and cold.

"You can be so selfish sometimes, you know that? I'm a part of this, too. I was in The Hunger Games, too. I have to go on this Victory Tour. I have to play the game. How can I play if I don't know the rules?"

I'm speechless. Peeta has never talked to me this way before. Usually I'm quite skilled at retorts but I didn't see this coming. The difference here is that I deserve everything he is throwing at me. I forgot to realize Peeta is a part of this, too. It's exactly what happened on our way home from the Games. Me, unable to explain my selfish, idiotic behavior, and Peeta, coming to terms with it.

"Peeta—"

"No, Katniss. You really don't understand. We're a team now. Whether you like it or not, we are a team. You can't keep information like this to yourself. You can't fight this battle alone and neither can I!" Peeta is shouting now.

He has been fighting this battle alone, hasn't he? At least I have Prim and my mother. His family is nonexistent. Peeta, despite his own problems, is even there to comfort and help me while I don't even try to return the favor.

"Peeta, listen to me!" I whisper frantically, afraid someone might hear us. Afraid he'll shut me out because I deserve it.

The anger disappears from his face and looks at me, heartbroken. This expression worries me more than his anger. I'm disgusted with myself.

I take a step toward him but he turns around and starts to walk back toward the train.

"Wait, Peeta," I plead, my voice breaking on the last syllable. _I'm sorry. Don't leave me._

Peeta stops and looks back at me, his eyes even sadder than before.

"I need to think this over," he tells me, so quietly that I need to strain myself to hear him over the roar of the train engine.

_Think what over?_ I want to ask. _This information? The Tour? The act? Me?_

"Let me help you," I plead. _Let me help you like you've helped me._

"Not now," he replies.

I watch him walk away, back to the train, and wonder how I managed to ruin everything.


	7. Chapter 7

Peeta isn't at dinner. Neither is Haymitch. I eat in silence as Effie tries to coax some conversation out of me but it's completely useless. I move the food around my plate to make it look like I've eaten something. It makes me feel incredibly guilty knowing that so many people are starving and yet I won't eat this food. I sip water without looking up from my plate. I don't know when Effie leaves but once she is gone I get up from the table and head down the hallway intent on talking to Peeta.

I didn't follow him onto the train after his well-deserved outburst feeling that my presence would only really incite more anger or pain in him. I remember turning to Haymitch, looking for something, _anything_, I could do to make the situation better. He just told me I'd 'better fix this' before he followed Peeta onto the train.

The activities for the rest of the day were canceled due to the unforeseen "riot" that took place so I spent the day in my compartment on the train alternating between pacing around the room and walking halfway down the hallway to Peeta only to chicken out and run back to my compartment.

Peeta usually isn't one for melodramatics so I thought he would be at dinner. The fact that he wasn't makes me even more worried, even though to be honest I'm not exactly sure why. Why am I worried about this? _Because he's your friend_, I think to myself._ You've been a horrible friend_.

When I reach Peeta's door, I immediately want to turn around and hide in my room again but I gather my courage and knock, timidly waiting for him to open the door only to surely throw it back in my face.

When he finally opens it I pull the peanut butter sandwich I had taken from of the dining compartment out of my pocket. I don't think he's eaten since breakfast so I know he must be hungry. This is my opening move. _What a cowardly icebreaker._

Peeta doesn't take the sandwich but instead wordlessly allows me to enter his room, closing the door behind us. He crosses his arms over his chest, waiting for me to say something. His eyes are bloodshot and red around the rims. It looks like he's been crying.

"You should eat this. You must be hungry." I offer him the sandwich lamely, refusing eye contact and knowing that he could have made a better one himself.

"Not really," he says quietly.

"Yeah, me neither."

I place the sandwich on his nightstand anyway. Maybe he will eat it later. I look back up at him. Everything about his body language reminds me of the time I visited his house in the Victor's Village all those weeks ago. It's the same situation isn't it? I guess history repeats itself after all.

"Peeta, I'm so sorry," I say quietly, finally looking at him.

He stares back at me, his anger has vanished and been replaced with sadness. I swallow thickly, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don't want to drift apart again. In fact, I won't allow it. I'm too stubborn to let him slip through my fingers. I may not have many friends, but I value the ones I do, right?

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. _No more lies. No more pretending_. Prim comes to me again. I see her roll her eyes at me telling me to "just tell him the truth!"

And that's what I decide to do.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything but I promise, from here on out, I will not keep anything from you." I stare directly at him, trying to make myself as clear as I can because I truly mean what I say. I see his eyes shift to the window. He won't look at me.

"I will tell you everything. Now. Just give me a chance." My voice has become slightly desperate and my hands start to shake again, a tendency that has become more and more frequent.

Peeta switches his gaze back to me. He looks more sad than angry and more tired than anything else.

"Katniss, I don't know if I'm strong enough to give you any more chances," he says quietly.

He looks at me again, broken. Like he's already given up. This terrifies me and my hands start to shake furiously. We've worked so hard and come so far trying to develop some semblance of a friendship. Well I guess he's worked hard while I've just gone along with everything. I'm as useless as ever, aren't I?

I don't know what to say so I do the only thing I can think of. I throw my arms around Peeta's neck and hug him as tightly as I can, ignoring my shaking hands. Ignoring how much I hate displays of affection.

If I don't let go he can't run from me, can he? He can't hide. _And he's warm…_

His body stiffens for only a moment before he returns the hug with equal force. I feel him let out a shaky breath. After a few minutes he speaks.

"I shouldn't have said those things," he whispers into my hair.

"I deserved it," I respond.

I can feel him shake his head.

"I don't know what I can do anymore. To make you trust me," he says wearily.

"Peeta," I whisper as I pull away slightly so I can look at him.

"I do trust you. More than anyone and I think that scares me the most."

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. They are the absolute truth and I realize, as I speak them, there is no going back. No matter how hard it is I can't hide from Peeta anymore. I stare back into his eyes, wondering how I could possibly _not_ trust him and it's terrifying.

"Why?" Peeta asks softly. That's a good question; one I would like the answer to myself.

"I don't know."

* * *

We sit cross-legged on his bed and I tell him everything, starting with the uprisings. I tell him in more detail about Snow's threats to Gale and Prim. Now that the floodgates are open, it all comes quite easily and I don't have to think much. I don't worry too much about the recording devices I know are planted in this room. Snow knows what I am telling Peeta so I can't possibly get in trouble for that. I was told to tell Peeta this after all, right?

"There's something else," I tell him while looking down at my fingers.

Peeta, distracted by my trembling hands, had decided to take hold of them at some point during the conversation. _And that's fine, _I think_. We're friends. Friends can hold hands. _

_But I never hold hands with Gale… _I ignore that.

Peeta has been tense for most of the discussion, which I don't find to be that unusual. My response to Snow's information was bad, to say the least. Peeta doesn't ask questions but I know he must have things to say. He must know he will have to wait to tell me when we are away from invisible Capitol ears.

"What?" he asks, concerned.

"It's about you. Snow said something to me about you."

"What did he say?"

I look up at him, those blue eyes silently imploring me and I know I have to tell him, despite the fact that I don't want to. I don't want him to worry about this because it will never happen. I won't let it happen.

"Do you know Finnick Odair?" I start out, deciding to ease my way into the hard part.

"The Victor? Yeah. Why?" He asks cautiously.

"Do you know what he does?" It's a strange question and I can tell Peeta thinks so too by the way his expression changes.

"Not really. I don't really know that much about him. He always goes to those Capitol events. I think I saw him during our Victory celebration after the Games. He was talking to some Capitol lady."

"Snow hinted at me that Finnick is being prostituted around the Capitol to the highest paying customers." The words taste like spoiled milk as they leave my mouth and I try to contain my voice, knowing the Capitol is listening.

I glance at Peeta, who looks like he's been slapped.

"Are you serious?" His voice is barely audible.

"Yes."

I pause, searching Peeta's face for any clue of how he's handling this. The next part is the most difficult to swallow.

"Snow said that if I don't…act well enough…that if I don't play my part of the star-crossed lovers well enough…he would do the same to you."

Peeta stares at me, wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape.

"But I won't let that happen. I can do this. I won't let them take you away," I say quickly, trying to reassure both him and myself.

Peeta's face turns white and his hands leave mine. He looks out the window at the now dark District 11 train station and runs his hands through his hair nervously.

"I don't know what to say," he states. And then, astonishingly, he starts to laugh.

I stare at him in shock, watching him laugh and laugh and laugh and I don't know what to do or say.

"I always know what to say, don't I? For once I'm speechless!" He says between laughs. It's making me nervous. He has to stop or the Capitol could misconstrue his laughing as a sign of disrespect.

"Please don't laugh," I tell him, my voice desperate and choked. As his eyes meet mine his laughing dies down.

"You're right. That's not funny," he agrees. Peeta has clasped his hands together and he studies them carefully. I watch him as his brow furrows, his eyes never leaving his hands.

"So Snow is using me against you."

I nod. _I'm sorry, Peeta._

"I'm sorry," he whispers, looking at me.

"Don't. We've already discussed this. No more apologizing." My voice is hard and what I hope is convincing.

Peeta slumps his shoulders and drops his head into his hands. If this isn't easy for me I can't imagine what it's like for him. I watch Peeta carefully. He's tired. I can tell by the way he speaks. By the way he moves. By the way he's not arguing, relenting to me.

"But Peeta I won't let it happen to you. I can do it. I can play the part." I grab his hands, hoping to convey that my message is sincere but realize soon after that I did it more so because I missed the feel of them in my own. _Ridiculous_, I think.

"You can?"

I nod vigorously. I can. I can do it.

"You don't know how." His words annoy me but they're true.

"Well I've never tried, have I?" I retort and then I stiffen, thinking of Prim's words. If Peeta senses my change in demeanor he doesn't bring it up.

"I can teach you some tricks, if you want," he says.

"Tricks?" What kind of tricks can he teach me? I'm not a dog that's supposed to jump through hoops. It's not like I'm supposed to go and perform magic.

"Yes. To help you, you know…act like you love me." He looks down at our hands and I want to take them back.

"Yeah. Ok. What are they?"

Peeta stares at our hands for a few moments before he looks at me and starts to speak.

"Well first you need to find something about me. Something that makes you happy. Maybe happy memories or thoughts." I can see Peeta begin to blush but he presses on. "Then just think about that when you're with me in front of the cameras. You'll be happy. People in love are happy, right? At least when they're with each other."

He doesn't look very happy but his suggestion is all I have to work with.

"Happy memories. I guess that will work," I confirm.

Peeta looks exhausted, like he might fall asleep while speaking to me. I'm sure he wants to go to bed but is too polite to ask me to leave.

"I'm tired. I'm going to try to get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Peeta returns his gaze to the window.

"It's been a tough day, hasn't it."

I nod. That's an understatement. People were killed and Peeta probably feels responsible. My blood goes cold when I realize I should feel responsible as well. _What have we done?_

Peeta gets up and walks me to the door. Before I open it to leave I feel his hand on my shoulder and I turn around.

"I'm sorry, by the way. For acting the way I did. I was just tired of being treated like a second thought."

I'm sure he doesn't mean to make me feel worse but I do anyway.

"I know," I whisper. "You will never be a second thought again. Not to me."

I don't think he ever was to begin with, only that I was just too stupid to acknowledge that Peeta means more to me than I think. Why else would I be so concerned about losing him? I can see Prim doing cartwheels in my head. _Because he's my friend. I'm not in love with him, Prim. I'll never be in love with anyone._

"I'll be better tomorrow. I'll be back to myself. Today just took a lot out of me," Peeta tells me.

Despite my better judgment, I bring my hand up to Peeta's face and run my fingers over the bags under his eyes. He sighs and closes them.

"You're not selfish," he murmurs. "I said you were selfish and you're not." I forgot that was one of the names he called me.

"I think I am," I confess in a low voice.

"You're not," he tells me with conviction. _I'm selfish in different ways. Ways you don't know._

I move my fingers from under his eyes and push the hair off his forehead. I wonder why his Prep team didn't trim his bangs.

"I know you don't love me, Katniss. I don't expect you to love me and whatever happens…just know that I'm grateful that you tried...whatever it is that's happening. You tried to help. That's what friends do, right? We're friends."

_But we're more than friends, aren't we?_ I comes to me simply. I don't think anyone can survive the Hunger Games with another person and come out as 'just friends.' It's like we're tethered together now. If I'm pulled in one direction Peeta will follow and I know it goes the other way as well. I will follow him.

'Friends' won't work for me. That's not what we are. But what _are_ we?

I study Peeta's face. His straight nose that's littered with freckles. His strong jaw that sets when I touch his face, like I'm doing now. His lips that haven't produced a smile since this morning. The shaggy blond hair that falls over his sad blue eyes. _I wish they weren't so sad._

I've never really looked at him before, have I? I touch his cheek and for the first time since the cave I want to kiss him. But I can't. I won't. Because I don't love him and that wouldn't be fair.

Instead, to both his and my complete shock, I kiss him softly on the cheek, lingering longer than necessary. When I pull away, Peeta's eyes are open and questioning.

"Good friends. That's what we are." I confirm.

Peeta smiles and I'm happy because he looks more like himself when he smiles.

"Oh, so good friends can do that?" he asks, amused.

"I think so." But my mind is screaming yes and no at the same time. Can good friends give each other kisses on the cheek? Well… maybe not your typical 'good friends'. But we're not typical people.

"Well if that's the case, let me return the favor."

Peeta pecks me quickly on the cheek and I can feel the place where his lips touched me burn, my blush radiating from the spot. _And I hate that I'm blushing_. Before I do or say anything stupid I go back to my compartment.

Maybe, secretly, I'll add this to my list of happy memories.

* * *

My life on Tour becomes a routine. The first day in each District, Peeta and I address the people followed by a question and answer session with the press, which I don't understand because all the questions are the same and all of our answers are the same. _Yes, Peeta and I are enjoying our time together. Yes, we are enjoying our time on Tour. Yes, we are looking forward to mentoring. _Why the Capitol feels the need to include one of these in each District is beyond my comprehension. Haymitch warned us that once we get to the Capitol, Caesar will be asking more 'pressing' questions and that we should be prepared.

On the second day we tour the District. It was the grain fields in 11, which were particularly difficult for me because all I could think of was Rue. The livestock farms in District 10 and the grain processing factories in 9. We see a lot of factories, in Districts 8, 6, 5, 3 and 2. My favorite Tours are in 7 and 4. District 7 is basically a monstrous forest and it reminds me of the woods outside 12. We tour the lumberyards but I don't like them. The skeletons of the once beautiful trees make me depressed. District 4 is warm and surrounded by crystalline water. We tour the fishing marinas. I want to swim in the water but I know I'm not allowed. I don't like the warehouses we visit in District 1. They remind me too much of the Capitol.

On the third day there is a party in each District Mayor's house. We have to talk to a lot of people who I'm sure don't like us very much.

For each District, Cinna and my prep team make me look lovely and dress me in clothing that slightly reflects each District while also maintaining my own "aura", as Cinna had put it. Peeta is always dressed in similar clothes.

Haymitch is never sober and only makes public appearances when Effie forces him to. He makes snappy comments to Peeta and me at mealtimes and likes to ruffle Effie's feathers. He doesn't need to warn us about the Capitol. Peeta and I are already aware.

The photographers take a lot of pictures of us and I have to be on my best behavior at all times, which hasn't proven to be that difficult. I've compiled a mental list of things I like about Peeta- happy memories and happy thoughts to help me. With my acting. At least that's what I tell myself.

_I like the way he rolls his eyes at Effie when she's not looking. I like when Peeta imitates Haymitch. I like the way his eyes light up when he talks about baking. I like the way his breath feels against my ear when he whispers something to me. I like when he wears short-sleeved shirts and I can see his arms. I like his laugh and his smile and his eyes and the way his hand feels in mine._

_I like when he kisses me_.

But there is no kissing between us without the cameras, and it's better that way. I become confused when I kiss him. I find I'm never the one to pull away. I want to _keep_ doing it. _I hate that I want to keep doing it_. The kisses we share in front of the cameras are mostly brief and chaste but they are sweet. Sometimes, when the photographers can't be satisfied with those kisses, they become longer and more lingering and I forget where I am.

_I like kissing Peeta and that scares me._

Somewhere in between Districts 9 and 10 Peeta and I started to sit with each other in the living room compartment of the train when we couldn't sleep at night. Around 1 or 2 a.m. I'll leave my compartment to find Peeta waiting for me on the couch or in a chair. The night's easier when you're not alone. We sit and talk, and he makes me laugh, until around 5 or 6 when we go back to our own compartments where we pretend to sleep.

It's my favorite part of the Tour.

I learn things about Peeta I had never known. I learn that Peeta's favorite thing to bake is banana bread but he can't do it a lot because bananas are very expensive and hard to come by. Peeta's least favorite things to bake are sugar cookies because he ate too many one time and had a terrible stomachache for days. Peeta's brothers are Barley (the oldest and much too like his mother) and Rye (two years older than Peeta and his favorite.)

I learned that Peeta's favorite color is orange. 'Not an ugly orange' as Peeta had put it, but a muted orange. 'Like the sunset,' he had said while smiling. Peeta once brought home a wounded bird he found outside the bakery and tried to nurse it back to health but it died. He said he buried it in the yard when no one was looking. I laughed at that because Peeta is exactly like Prim; he would be a terrible hunter.

Peeta told me he paints. I asked to see some of the paintings but he said most of them aren't very nice. I still want to see them.

I tell him things about me that I don't think are very interesting but Peeta finds fascinating. He wanted to know my favorite color (green) and my favorite thing to hunt (deer). He wanted to know my favorite baked item "for future reference" he had told me. I laughed and told him the cheese buns in the window always looked really good but I could never afford them.

I tell him stories about Prim. I tell him how she once convinced Rory Hawthorne that Lady only eats four-leafed clovers. Poor Rory had started a collection of at least 10 before Prim told him it was a joke. Peeta thought that was funny. I don't tell Peeta about hunting with Gale. I don't tell him about my father. I don't tell anyone about my father.

Our midnight conversations are a nice distraction from the more serious aspects of the Tour. Every time we go to a new District I'm reminded of my promise to Snow and the looming threat of potential uprisings. Peeta's speeches are always generic and Capitol-friendly and I pretend to be the idiot love-struck girl who is too stupid to spark a rebellion. We are particularly careful in District 8, which like District 11, already rioted once.

I start sleeping in Peeta's bed on the second night in District 8. He wasn't waiting for me in the living room compartment like he usually did at night. I didn't think much of it at first. Maybe he had fallen asleep or lost himself in his painting. I walked down the hall to his room anyway and stay by his door. I knew I should have probably just given up and gone back to my own compartment but I couldn't. I wanted to leave but couldn't muster up the strength. I had grown accustomed to Peeta's presence and didn't want to spend the night alone again. I knew that if Peeta didn't come out that night I would probably just have fallen asleep outside his door.

After about an hour I was beginning to drift off, my head leaning against Peeta's door, when I heard a loud thud on the other side of it. In my half-conscious state, I threw it open to see Peeta lying on the floor next to his bed, fists clenched and neck strained. He was having a nightmare.

I stayed with him that night, whispering comforting words to him the same way he did for me. Stroking his hair and hugging him the same way he did for me. _And he's so warm_. I couldn't lift him onto the bed so I lay on the floor with him, his head in my lap, until he woke up. Peeta doesn't scream or thrash like I do when he has nightmares so it's hard to tell he's having one until he wakes up, breathing heavily and searching for me. It pains me to know I can't pull him out of it the way he can for me. _I'm useless, as always._

Our Victory Tour is almost over and in a few hours we will be in the Capitol. In a few hours I know I will be scared and nervous because this is what it all leads up to, right? The Capitol is the most important stop and I know Snow will want to talk to me. But right now, with Peeta, in his bed, I'm okay. A few months ago that thought would have made me laugh. But somehow it makes sense. And it's not scary, really. At least when he's next to me and warm and smells the way he does. When he can wake me up from my nightmares and, like a good friend, doesn't question anything.

It's very early and I'm awake before he is. His arms are wrapped tightly around me. They always end up that way. I snuggle closer to him, my head on his shoulder, my hand resting on the place above his heart. _He's warm_. In the dark of the early morning, I press my nose into his t-shirt, blatantly inhaling as much of the sugar-vanilla-Peeta smell as I can before he wakes up and realizes what's happening. Peeta remains on his baker's schedule, waking early and almost all of the time before I do. I've only woken up one other time before Peeta has and that was that first morning. The morning after his nightmare. I close my eyes, my arms wrapped around him, nose in his shirt, and remember.

_Propped up on my elbow, I study Peeta's face. The little wrinkle above his eyes has disappeared and the corners of his mouth are twisted up in a slight smile. I bring my free hand and brush away the hair that covers his eyes._

_He looks so peaceful._

_My hand trails down his face and stop at his jaw and I pretend that I don't want to kiss him there._

"_Good morning," he says sleepily._

_I start and move to pull my hand away but he grabs my wrist, keeping me there._

"_Good morning," I respond._

_Peeta closes his eyes, most likely basking in this peaceful and quiet moment. We don't have many of them. After a while he sits up and faces me. His expression has changed._

"_You didn't have to stay. I'm sorry," he says without meeting my eyes, like he's ashamed of himself._

"_I had someone help me through the night too, once," I reply quietly. Peeta doesn't know how to respond so he says nothing._

"_Did you sleep well?" I ask._

"_Of course. Once the nightmare was over I slept wonderfully," he replies, still avoiding my eyes._

"_Peeta."_

_At the sound of his name he finally looks at me._

"_I sleep better when you're with me," I confess and I'm surprised by my own bluntness. Where is this coming from?_

"_I sleep better when I'm with you," he responds, not at all thrown by my uncharacteristic candor._

_That night I go to Peeta's room and he isn't surprised to see me._

"_Hi," he says, amused. He must have just taken a shower because his hair is soaking and he has a towel in one hand. There are small droplets of water that trail down his face, hanging precariously once they reach his jaw. I swallow loudly._

"_I don't want to be tired anymore," I tell him. I'm skirting around the issue. Maybe he will just ask me and I won't have to deal with it. I stare at him and he stares back, smiling widely. He is going to make me suffer, isn't he?_

"_Are you tired?" I ask him._

"_All the time. I can't sleep well without you," he tells me truthfully and I hide my smile because he's given me an easy in._

"_Well, maybe…"_

_I'm struggling. I was never the one who was good with words and now I feel stupid for coming here._

_"Maybe, if you wanted, we could just sleep together." I suggest in a small voice. "In the same bed. Just sleep. In the same bed." I sound like a complete moron and want to take back my words but Peeta just smiles beautifully while I stumble over my words._

"_You want to sleep together?" Peeta asks me, his voice serious._

_I nod, watching his eyes for signs of what he may be thinking._

"_Yes," he says. I need more of a confirmation, though, so he elaborates. "I want to share a bed with you. To sleep."_

_I'm relieved and embarrassed that this is happening and Peeta must sense my discomfort because he tugs on my braid and does his best Effie impersonation._

"_But what will our dear friend Effie Trinket think of this?"_

"_I don't care," I scowl and follow him into his compartment._

_Once we're in bed and all the lights are turned off and I can't see Peeta's face I snuggle close to him, hating this weakness. He envelops me in his arms and sighs deeply. I place my head on his chest carefully and listen to the rhythm of his heartbeat until it becomes slow and even._

"_Thank you, Peeta," I whisper, half hoping he is asleep. For a few seconds I think he is. But then I feel his arms flex tighter around me and he speaks._

"_It's what we do, right? Good friends."_

I've slept in his compartment ever since. Octavia was confused when I refused her coffee that first morning and it was a memory I added to the list.

There are days, though, when I become overwhelmed and confused and spend hours in the bathroom, trying to sort through my feelings. _Good friends. Just good friends_, I say, trying to reassure myself while I sit in the bathtub until my skin prunes or brush my teeth until my gums bleed. Peeta doesn't ask why I'm late to his room on those days but he knows something's off. He doesn't tease me or bring up the Tour. But once the lights are off and we're under the covers, he crushes me to him and I get lost in his smell and allow his heartbeat to lull me to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Peeta**

I prefer waking up before Katniss for many different reasons. First, there's the fact that I get to openly watch her sleep until she walks up. I get to study the different aspects of her face that are so different when she is asleep: no frown, no worry lines above her eyes, calm. I get to soak in the fact that she curls up against me, her head on my chest, nose in my shirt, arms wrapped around me. One morning I woke up to find her face buried in the crook of my neck, her lips just barely touching me and her breath hot against my skin. I laid there and thought, _I am in love with this girl and nothing will change that._

Sometimes I believe that I have successfully broken down her emotional wall. The way she laughs when we share stories in the living compartment of the train in the dead of night. The way she smiles, not her fake Capitol-smile, but her real one. The one where the left side of her mouth raises higher than the right and you can almost make out dimples. _That_ smile. It's only come out a handful of times, and always when we are alone, away from the prying Capitol eyes. There are times, though, when I see a hint of _that_ smile right after we kiss. I pull away and her eyes are still closed and she begins to smile. But then she hears the photographers and recognizes the flash bulbs of the cameras and tries to hide _that_ smile.

She clumsily tries to rebuild her emotional wall after each day of Touring, hoping to hide behind it, but it always comes down more easily the next day and it's given me hope.

I try desperately to warn myself not to fall too deep but the moment I see _that_ smile I know I'm already gone.

She's confused but I'm not sure why. I know she's confused because some days she comes to my room distant and glassy-eyed. She doesn't talk much and I don't pry but I can see the little wheels turning in her head. Those nights I talk about mundane things and when she thinks I'm not looking I see her studying me intensely. I don't know what happens on those days, why those days are so different for her, but once the lights are out and we are under the blankets of my bed, I clutch her to me, hoping that if I hold her close enough she won't run away.

I wake up most mornings and just lie in bed and watch Katniss sleep, keeping my arms tightly around her. But then she snuggles closer to me and sometimes rubs up against me _there_ and I have to suppress a groan because I'm only human for god's sake and I can't help it. I'm in bed with the girl I love and when you're in bed with the girl you love you can't help how parts of your body react.

That's another reason why I like waking up before Katniss: so I can calm down before she wakes up and finds me in _that_ state. That's not how good friends act. Friends don't wake up with hard-ons with the other friend centimeters away. Not even good friends do that. It doesn't help that she wears a small tank top and tiny shorts to bed. I can't even imagine what it would be like if I slept the way I usually do: shirtless and only in my boxers. I don't think Katniss would be comfortable with that. I also usually don't sleep with my prosthetic leg but I'm not sure how Katniss would react to that either.

Unfortunately this morning things didn't go my way. I wake up and see two beautiful grey eyes staring at me and there is a tiny hint of _that_ smile and my body starts reacting and I know I have to pull away from her even though every ounce of my being is screaming at me not to.

"Good morning," I say. My voice is gravelly from sleep and I get up and 'stretch', my back turned to her so I can calm down.

"Good morning," she replies, a slight edge to her voice.

I turn around, flop back down on the bed and look up at her.

Her hair is a mess. I love it.

"You woke up before me," I state. "What's that about?"

Katniss closes her eyes and sighs.

"We'll be in the Capitol in a few hours."

"I know."

All of a sudden Katniss jumps out of bed and walks swiftly to my bathroom. She turns the shower and sink on but leaves the door open. I see her head pop out of the bathroom and she motions for me to join her.

I know what she's doing. She wants to tell me something without being overheard. I've done this once before. A few days after Katniss told me about her meeting with Snow, I pulled her into my bathroom, ran the faucet and shower and whispered to her my thoughts and fears. Thoughts that couldn't be overheard. Did she know more about the riots? Were people killed? Does it seem like it will spread? Do people in the Capitol know? Does she think District 12 will rebel? Does Gale know everything? Does Prim know everything? Who knows?

I didn't ask her questions about Finnick. I don't want to know.

I follow Katniss into the bathroom, very glad I've been able to 'calm down', and close the door behind us.

Katniss sits on the edge of the bathtub and I join her.

"I'm scared," she whispers to me. I look at her, the smile gone, worry lines back, frown in place. She's never openly admitted her fear to me. I think back to our time in the Hunger Games and can't think of one moment where she let her guard down. Not like this. She's never told me outright how frightened she is. Not even after her first nightmare.

I pull her to me and wrap her in a crushing hug.

"Me too," I whisper into her ear and she shivers. After her first meeting with Snow I knew he was going to want to talk to her again. I'm scared for me as well. _I don't want to know about Finnick_.

Slowly she brings her arms up and around my neck. I still haven't gotten used to when she accepts my hugs. It took her weeks, never wanting to cross lines without the cameras.

"I don't want to see him, Peeta," she whispers.

"I won't let you go alone. I'll go with you," I whisper back. I'd do anything to keep her safe. _I'm so hopeless._

Katniss sighs and I feel her breath move the hairs at the nap of my neck.

"He won't allow that."

I hug her even tighter to me. "I won't let you go alone. Not again." My voice is louder than I intended it to be and Katniss pulls away slightly, purses her lips and puts a finger to them.

"Shh," she says.

I nod. She's right. We should get out of the bathroom too or those invisible ears we're so wary of may become suspicious.

I stand up, turn off the faucets and pull her to me, never seeming to let her go completely.

"I will protect you," I whisper so softly I'm not even sure Katniss hears me.

"Cinna and Portia are going to be here soon," I tell her, trying to keep my tone casual now that the faucets are no longer running and together we walk out of the bathroom and back into my bedroom.

"Either them or Effie," Katniss crinkles her nose in disgust. She does not like when Effie wakes us up.

"No Effie? What about the time she first saw us together in here? You don't want to relive that?"

The first time Effie saw us in bed together she nearly fainted. Her orange hair was flopping around and she flailed her arms comically.

"This is NOT proper!" she had cried before she skittered out of the room on her ridiculous shoes. She sent Cinna and Portia in to deal with us. Apparently she was too scandalized to come back.

Katniss smiles vaguely and I think I've cheered her up for now.

"What are we doing today again?" I ask as I peer out of the window. I can see the snow-capped mountains and know soon that we will be under them, going through the tunnel and shuttling straight towards the Capitol. My stomach feels strange. The last time we were passing these mountains both Katniss and I were lambs for slaughter.

"I think today we are just with our prep teams. They're gonna work on us until our interview with Caesar tonight." Katniss doesn't seem happy about her prep team or Caesar. I'll take control of the interview again, though. It's an unspoken agreement at this point. I don't hate my time with my prep team as much as she does. Although, they don't really do much with me do they? Comb my hair and put me in a suit. That's about it.

"Ahh, yes. I need a lot of work, don't I? Ton's a make up. My hair's a disaster." I turn and look in the giant mirror on the wall, pretending to scrutinize my face. In the mirror I see Katniss roll her eyes, turn around the sit down on the bed quite unceremoniously.

"Shut up. You know I always take hours longer than you do," she laments.

"I told you this is because my prep team loves me more than yours loves you," I tease as I walk over to her and join her on the bed. She scowls at me and I poke her nose. She swats away my hand.

"Are you ready for the interview with Caesar?" Her question is timid. The question and answer session in each district won't hold a candle to Caesar's interview. They'll be saving the juicy questions for the Capitol audience.

"Haymitch is going to talk to us about that," I tell her. Haymitch went on a Victory Tour once, too. He'll know what to expect and he will coach us. He hasn't really needed to during the District Tours because we've just been playing up our love story. At least Katniss has been playing it up. I'm not playing up anything.

"Oh. I forgot about that didn't I?" she furrows her brow but then looks slightly relieved.

"Well that's what I'm here for, right?" I lie back down on my bed and stretch my arms above my head.

"Yes, the only reason," she responds, amused, and pokes me in the stomach. I shoot back up and rub the spot where she poked me and there's a hint of _that_ smile before we hear a knock on the door.

"Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big, day!" Effie screeches.

Our time in the Capitol is about to begin.

* * *

As usual, I was ready before Katniss. I pull at the cuffs of my jacket while I wait for her underneath the stage. The crowd has been a constant rumble of noise ever since a very skittish Effie placed me here. We didn't get ready in our train compartments this time. The Capitol has put us up in some sort of "Victor Hotel Suite". I don't like it, though. It reminds me of our accommodations before the Games.

I watch Effie as she nervously does some last minute primping in the corner. I think she's even more nervous than I am; she and Haymitch get their own introduction and interview with Caesar before Katniss and me. If Effie weren't a constant nag I would consider her nervousness to be kind of endearing. Her hair, still orange, is wrapped around her head like a beehive. Her eyes are black around the edges making her green eyes look kind of scary. She's wearing a poofy purple dress and spiky high heels. I'm sure the Capitol will compliment her on her outfit choice but to me she looks like something you would see in one of the Capitol zoos.

Haymitch, unlike Effie, is not happy to be here. I spot him in the corner of the underground room taking periodic sips from his flask. Someone has forced him into a suit, washed his hair and shaved his beard. He actually looks pretty good, considering his usual state, and therefore completely unrecognizable. Effie actually went up to him and attempted a conversation thinking he was someone else.

"Excellent! Excellent!" I hear Effie cry and I switch my gaze to her. "Now that both of you are here we can start! Someone please tell the tech crew we're ready."

I see Katniss round a corner followed by Cinna and her prep team and stomach flips. She looks beautiful, but in an innocent sort of way. She is wearing a very pale green strapless dress that ends just below her knees and some very uncomfortable looking shoes, which I'm sure are perfectly 'in style'. Her hair is curled and pinned up around her head loosely.

Cinna and Portia decided to match us again, I believe, because I'm wearing a dark green suit with pale green piping. Not that I really pay attention to what they tell me to wear because I have no interest.

Katniss takes her place next to me and grabs my hand. For the first half of the tour I was the one who had to initiate that kind of behavior but around District 5 Katniss started taking my hand without my prompt. _Small victories. Just like the hugs._

She still won't initiate kisses, though. Camera kisses. We don't kiss in private. Not that I expect her to, anyway. _A boy can dream._

She turns to face me and I can't tell if she's really blushing or if it's Cinna's handiwork. Her eyes are painted in a way that make them look like pure smoke. Her lips are a pinkish color and very shiny. For a second I lose my train of thought.

"Wake up, sweetheart," she tells me with a small smile and my face flushes when I remember that I told her the same thing the moment after our first kiss of the Tour.

"Sorry, I've just been waiting for you for a while now and I'm tired. Feels like days." I give her a wry smile and squeeze her hand.

"You look beautiful, by the way," I tell her in a more serious voice, so she knows I'm being sincere. I don't think I should even stand next to her, like I don't belong in her company.

I see her face turn slightly pinker as she thanks me and faces forward again.

"You don't look too bad yourself," she nearly whispers as her eyes switch to the floor.

I hear the platform next to us start to rise and turn to see Effie, all smiles, heading straight up onto the stage. She's met with applause and I don't catch much of her interview.

Haymitch goes up soon after, also met with applause. His interview with Caesar seems to be more of a comedy routine due of the amount of laughter I hear from the audience. Either that or he's drunkenly fallen off the stage again.

After Haymitch's interview I hear Caesar Flickerman begin our introduction.

"And now. The moment you have all been waiting for. Please welcome the Victors of the 74th Hunger Games. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"

The stage starts to rise and I feel Katniss move closer to me, her grip on my hand tightening. The roar of the crowd is the first thing I register, followed by the blinding lights of the stage. The crowd is drowning out Caesar's theme music and camera flashbulbs start to pop. _Showtime_.

I thrust our hands into the air and wave with the other. Katniss, following my lead, does the same. I can't make out real words, only the deafening roar of the crowd. We continue our waving until I remember what Haymitch told us only hours ago.

_1. "There is no such thing as too much PDA with this group. Lay it on thick."_

I pull Katniss to me and bring my lips to hers. This has become second nature, almost, between the two of us. Our kisses have never lasted more than five seconds at most but I relish each and every one of them. If this is the only time I can actively display my feelings toward this girl, I am going to take advantage of that fact.

After a few seconds I move to pull away but Katniss grabs the back of my head and holds me in place. _This is new._

The crowd goes berserk and I start to smile widely, effectively ruining the kiss. I want to kick myself. Katniss pulls away and, surprisingly, is smiling _that_ smile which makes me smile even more. The crowd is eating it up.

It appears our little introduction lasted longer than expected because Caesar has had to come over to where Katniss and I are standing and escort us to our seats. I smile guiltily as Caesar shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the audience, who laugh at the gesture.

Finally Katniss and I sit down next to each other on a small couch. I drape my arm over Katniss' shoulders and idly trail my fingers up and down her bare arm. I take my other hand in hers and smile at Caesar, who looks at me admonishingly.

"I should berate you two but it's pretty obvious you can't help it at this point," Caesar says with a grin.

I laugh and Katniss giggles.

"Sorry Caesar, but our prep teams kept us apart for a while today and I couldn't help myself once I saw her," I explain. I'm not even lying. I missed her.

"Same here, Caesar. He just looks so handsome tonight…" Katniss explains and I see her blush again.

"Now, that's alright. I'm a sucker for young love, as you all know," he says while addressing the audience. _Shit, I forgot._

_2. "Include the audience whenever you can."_

Caesar goes into a brief story about one of his many 'unrequited loves' and the Capitol audience, being the ever-sensitive people they are, are all ears and completely sympathetic.

"Now, Peeta. Katniss. Tell me a little about your Tour so far. Have you two enjoyed yourselves?"

Here is the easy part. Katniss and I give the same answers we've given to all the other District reporters. _Yes, we've enjoyed the Tour. All the Districts are lovely. No, we don't have a favorite._ Katniss brilliantly adds here that she thinks she will like the Capitol the best. I can't help myself and kiss her on the cheek. She looks at me, and the Capitol smile planted on her face falters only a little. She's nervous.

More mundane questions follow. I tell what the Capitol believes to be a funny story about how I tripped in District 7 over a fallen tree branch, explaining that my prosthetic leg sometimes isn't very cooperative. Haymitch would be pleased.

_3. Tell stupid stories._

Katniss places her hand on my bad leg and frowns. She didn't think that was funny. My prosthetic leg is a constant reminder of what I lost during the Games. Sometimes I think it hurts her more than it hurts me.

Finally Caesar gets tired of the less 'gripping' questions and goes in for the kill.

"So how are you two doing? We sure have missed hearing about you two lovebirds." Caesar puts on a dopey looking frown and looks out at the audience.

"We're doing just great," I assure him. "And we've missed you all too, we're just so pleased to be back here!" The audience cheers.

"Now. You've been together for a while now. Obviously you two must be planning a future together? We would all just kill for a Capitol wedding!"

I try to hide my disgust at his word choice and my stomach twists uncomfortably. Haymitch alluded to us that this would happen. The Capitol wants closure. They want to see the star-crossed lovers married. They want children. In the future. _In the future_. Emphasize the future.

_4. Emphasize your future together._

I try to ignore the thoughts in the back of my mind but they're screaming at me. _There is no future, Mellark, because it's not real. It's an act. Not real. _As if to emphasize that fact, Katniss squeezes my hand. I'm sure she's just trying to be reassuring and supportive in this mess but I can't help where my thoughts are taking me. They're clouding over my judgment and my pause has become noticeable. Thankfully Katniss steps in.

"As you know, Caesar, Peeta and I have only been together a few months! We never had the chance to date. I know Peeta was desperately sad he missed that point in our relationship so we agreed to take it slow. Right now we are just relaxing and enjoying our time together. Time that we didn't get to spend together before we were Reaped."

I stare at Katniss wide-eyed. She has completely memorized the speech Haymitch told me to recite. To save my prior performance, I kiss her gently on the temple and smile down at her. She looks up at me and grins but it doesn't reach her eyes.

I turn to Caesar and give him my own answer to the question.

"You see, Caesar, I had this whole plan before we were Reaped where I was going to ask Katniss out on a date. To tell her my true feelings."

I pause and look at our entwined fingers. I've never told anyone this story and I never planned to but the words are coming out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"I was going to show up to her door with flowers and cookies for her sister and just _tell_ her," I explain, smiling sadly to myself. "Right after the Reaping. I was going to find her."

The audience is rapt with attention. I have them on every one of my words. I begin to regret telling the story, the memory is painful. I continue anyway, my voice softer.

"I had planned it weeks in advance. I even went out to the District 12 florist before the Reaping and spent my savings on some flowers."

I can feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes at the memory. They were yellow flowers. They were pretty. _Maybe she will like these_, I remember thinking. I was so stupid.

"I was so scared she was going to turn me down," I say quietly with a laugh. I can't look at Katniss. Not yet. Instead I stare at Caesar and continue speaking.

"But I never found out, did I? And I want to redo that part of our relationship before we get married."

Caesar is clearly moved by my confession and the audience is completely silent, as if everyone stopped breathing simultaneously. I stare out into the crowd at the faceless mass of people.

"I want to do it right. Now that I have the chance," I whisper.

Caesar is wiping at what I believe to be genuine tears and I hear a single sob escape from the audience.

"Is that true?" Katniss asks softly. I look at her for the first time since I began to speak. Her eyes are big and questioning, her brow furrowed.

"Yes," I tell her simply, not breaking her stare.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispers.

_Because it's a stupid story? Because I didn't want to be turned down again? Because you don't love me? And it would break my heart to see the look in your eyes when I told you?_

"I…" I can't find the right words. At least not the right words for the Capitol. Instead I lie, which is what we promised not to do to each other.

"I don't know."

"Well, I think that is quite the answer to that question," Caesar laughs, while wiping the last few tears from his face. "What do you think?" he asks the audience, who erupts into applause. It appears we've earned a standing ovation. I stare into the crowd, my face burning. I can't believe I told the entire country my dumb little failed plan to admit my feelings to Katniss.

I turn to look at Effie and Haymitch, who are sitting off to the side of the stage. Effie is weeping, her makeup running in smears down her face. She is attempting to join the crowd on their feet but is having some difficulty so one of the technicians is trying to help her up.

Haymitch is clapping along with the rest of the audience but doesn't look happy. Why shouldn't he be? I followed his rules. _3. Tell stupid stories._ Check. What did I do wrong?

I look back at Katniss, afraid she might be having the same reaction as Haymitch but she's just staring at me, mouth slightly open. She looks exactly her part: star-crossed lover.

* * *

We get home from the interview later than expected. The crowd needed to be quieted and it took a lot longer than we had anticipated. Katniss was silent during the ride back to the hotel and on the elevator up to our floor. She held my hand tightly but something was off. We didn't discuss sleeping arrangements before we left the train so I'm not sure if she plans on sleeping with me or in her room. I desperately hope it's the prior but as I sit on my bed, staring at the clock, watching the time pass, I start to think she won't come. Maybe my confession was a little too much to handle. I start to panic, worrying that all the progress we've made might as well have been for nothing, when I hear a timid knock on the door.

I open it to see Katniss waiting on the other side in her sleep clothes. She walks past me, pulls down the covers on my bed and slides in. I stare at her in shock for a few moments before her voice brings me back.

"Are you coming?" she asks expectantly?

I climb in next to her and she quickly cuddles close to me. I sigh in half relief, half joy and find her hands, which feel slightly pruned, like she might have spent too much time in the shower.

* * *

I'm in my room at the Hotel waiting to be carted off to the Victory Tour Celebration Extranaganza!, as Effie put it, held at none other than President Snow's Mansion. It is our final night in the Capitol before we head back to District 12.

Our second day in the Capitol did not require much talking on our part. Katniss and I took a tour of the Capitol and spent the day being carted from one "attraction" to another. Our tour guides, who were two strange looking men, showed us things like the Capitol Alteration Center, which is where Capitol citizens can go to get alterations to their bodies. We were allowed to walk in on a procedure where a woman was getting her skin tinted an odd looking blue color. We went to various clothing stores where the owners handed us free things. One man made me try on a very tight, sparkling suit, which made Katniss laugh, so I think it was well worth the humiliation.

I did enjoy the kitchens, though. As much as I hate the Capitol, I must admit that their cooking appliances are incredible, even more so than those I have back in the Victor's Village. Upon seeing my face as we walked around, one of our Tour Guides smiled and told me that they would have a "proper" oven installed at my home in the Victor's Village by the time we arrived back in District 12.

I'm thinking about that oven when I hear a knock on the door. I know it can't be Katniss, considering she will most likely still be with her prep team, and I'm right. It turns out to be Haymitch, who I haven't seen since our brief and silent exchange on stage.

He roughly pushes me into my room and heads straight for the bathroom.

"Hey—" I shout, but Haymitch puts a finger to his mouth silencing me. I follow him into the bathroom and watch him turn on all the faucets. Once they're all running he turns to me.

"What the hell did you think you were doing out there?" he whispers hoarsely. His voice sounds strange at such a low octave.

"What do you mean?" I whisper back.

"That whole sob story about your date with sweetheart. What the hell was that?"

"I was listening to you! _Number 3—Tell stories_!" I say. "Besides, it was true," I tell him more softly.

Haymitch looks at me for a long while before he sits on the closed toilet seat, rubbing his eyes.

"You have no idea what you were doing," he states.

"The act! I was playing up the act! You said to lay it on thick!"

"No, no, no. That was not an act. That was a tragic story. And even though it might have been true, and it didn't end terribly, you didn't paint the Capitol in a pretty picture. You made them look like tyrants indirectly. They were bad guys. Again. They didn't give you your chance with that girl."

As the realization hits me I grab the sink to steady myself.

"Yeah, boy. Don't pull any of that shit again. I don't care what you have to do, just don't do that again."

There's a loud knock on the door of my bedroom and I shut off all the faucets and answer it. It's Portia telling me it's time to go to Snow's Mansion. I have less than thirty seconds to collect myself before I have to put on the act again. I take three deep breaths before following Haymitch out the door.

Effie is pacing back and forth in the hall when I leave my room with Haymitch. I'm just about to compliment Effie on her ridiculous outfit when Katniss steps out of her room. She's wearing a jet-black dress that is both long-sleeved and skin tight, ending mid-calf. Her shoes look uncomfortable, but do amazing things to her legs. Her hair is pin straight, parted down the side, and her lips are red. I know I should say something but I can't form words. I can't even remember my conversation with Haymitch. _Why was he mad? What's my name again?_

I feel someone slap me on the back and I turn to see Haymitch offering me a swig from his flask, which I swat away in disgust.

"There we go," Haymitch laughs as he follows Effie and Katniss down the hall. I make to follow them but almost lose my balance when I see that Katniss' dress is backless. My throat goes dry.

"I think Casanova over there was trying to say that you look nice, sweetheart," he tells her as they walk down the hall. Haymitch turns around and gives me wink. "Cat must've gotten his tongue."

* * *

President Snow's mansion is enormous. Effie, Haymitch, Katniss and I enter through the giant oak front doors as thousands of camera bulbs flash. I take Katniss' hand, smiling and waving like I'm the happiest man on earth even though I'm just confused and scared. I've been thinking about what Haymitch said ever since we left the hotel.

Once inside we lose Effie almost immediately and Haymitch makes a beeline for the bar area. Katniss and I stand in a large atrium shaking peoples' hands and smiling. There are enormous television screens placed strategically around the mansion playing a sort of highlight reel of mine and Katniss' relationship. There are clips from our various interviews around the country, snippets of our Victory Tour and, of course, scenes from the Hunger Games. I don't look at the televisions and instead focus on the crowd of people showering us with attention. After what seems like hours the crowd dissipates and we move off to the side.

"Why was Haymitch in your room?" Katniss asks me quietly. She's looking at me intensely so she must know it's important.

"Ran out of white liquor. I'll tell you the full story later on," I tell her.

Katniss just nods and looks around.

"This is crazy," she says. My eyes wander around the room.

Snow's mansion is quite magnificent. I've never seen anything like it before in my life. Every surface is decorated with the most expensive materials. I recognize small aspects of the different Districts, though. The marble floors remind me of what we saw in District 2. The thick wooden doors remind me of District 7. The golden chandeliers are powered by energy from District 5. The flat screen televisions come straight from 3 and of course this house is dripping with products straight from District 1.

"It is. We're not in District 12 anymore," I say humorlessly. Katniss turns toward a table filled with tender meats and a variety of cheeses. The house if filled with these tables. I spot a table towards the back with different breads and another table with cakes and cookies.

"Are you hungry?" she asks me.

"Not really. But I know I should taste some things. Are you hungry?"

Katniss is fidgeting. I know she's not hungry. She's nervous about her meeting with President Snow.

"No. I'm not. Let's go look, though," she agrees and we start to make our way over to the table.

Suddenly, three very strange looking women block our way to the table. One of the women has bright white hair that is piled high on her head. She's wearing a very skimpy looking dress and her face painted thickly with makeup. I wonder what she really looks like underneath all of that. The second woman is large and her skin is tinted purple. Her eyes are the same green color as Effie's. The third woman is extremely tall, taller than anyone could naturally be, and she is wearing dark pants and a completely see-through top.

"The Victors of the 74th Hunger Games. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. So nice to meet you, finally," the purple woman says in a high, reedy voice.

I shake her hand. "Nice to meet you as well." I feel Katniss clutch my hand tighter.

"My name is Vexe and these are my friends Ursula and Hera," she says, pointing at the other two women.

"Nice to meet you," I smile, trying to hide my distaste.

"You look lovely Katniss," the tall woman says and Katniss gives her a Capitol-smile. "And you, Peeta, look absolutely dashing."

It is beginning to feel like Katniss is cutting off the circulation to my fingers. I smile anyway and pull Katniss closer to me, letting go of her hand and wrapping my arm around her waist.

"You should hold onto him, Ms. Everdeen," the white-haired woman says. "There are many Capitol women who would absolutely love to spend some time with Mr. Mellark."

I can feel my face pale, remembering Katniss' story about Finnick. I grip Katniss tighter and I feel her fingers dig into side.

"I'm sorry to disappoint all the Capitol women, but I'm not letting go of Peeta," Katniss says with a sweet smile.

"I don't blame you. Look at him. Plus the story he told Caesar the other night just about broke everyone's heart!" enthuses the purple woman as she drags her finger lazily around the edge of her glass which, I'm sure, is holding some sort of alcohol.

Katniss' fingers are digging into my arms I'm beginning to think there might be bruises tomorrow, not that I care of course.

"I was only telling Caesar the truth," I explain to all three of them while pulling Katniss even more closely to me. "I will be with her as long as she lets me." It's true. Everything I say is true. I'd follow Katniss into a fire storm and not question a thing.

"Ms. Everdeen?"

I swivel at the sound of Katniss being called and see two uniformed Peacekeepers marching up to where we are standing.

"Yes?" Katniss asks, my arm remains tightly around her.

"President Snow would like to speak with you. Upstairs," says the taller, more threatening Peacekeeper.

"Oh. Okay," Katniss breathes and her eyes flicker to mine for a half second, fear registering in her face. The Peacekeepers begin to move across the room and Katniss and I follow. I feel a hand on my shoulder and stop in my tracks. The tall woman from before is smiling at me, baring her teeth like an animal.

"They just asked for Ms. Everdeen, Peeta. Why don't you stay here with us?"

I feel Katniss stiffen in my arms.

"I would like to accompany my girlfriend, if that is alright," I say with a forced smile as I turn around and continue to walk. There's no way I'm staying here with these women and there is no way I am leaving Katniss' side.

We follow the Peacekeepers through the atrium, across the dance floor and into a secluded and fairly dark hallway.

"You're not needed Mr. Mellark," the shorter of the two Peacekeepers tells me.

"I would like to come," I tell him, my voice harsher than I intended.

"I'm sorry Mr. Mellark. Orders are orders." The peacekeeper looks almost apologetic but it doesn't quell my urge to punch him in the gut. Instead I bring my hands up the sides of Katniss' face and look into her eyes.

"I'll wait for you here, Katniss. I won't move from this spot until you're back," I promise.

She nods vigorously and I watch as the Peacekeepers pull her away and force her into an elevator. I feel light-headed, as if my stomach has moved its way up my throat. Terrible scenarios run through my head. What if he threatens her again? What if he wasn't pleased by her performance? What if he hurts her?

I pace up and down the hall while I wait for Katniss. Only one cameraman found me but I told him I was looking for the restroom. He left.

I'm prepared to wait hours for Katniss, expecting her conversation with Snow to last a long time, so when I see her exit the elevators not 20 minutes after she left I'm confused.

Her face is pale and her hands are shaking furiously. The two Peacekeepers are behind her, grave expressions on their faces. She looks like she's seen a ghost. I run to her and take her hands in mine, trying to stop the shaking.

"What happened? Why was it so quick?" I ask.

"I—" Katniss stutters. Her face is turning whiter by the second, an unwelcome contrast to her red lips. "He didn't have much to say," she whispers. I can feel the photographers before I see them. They're flashbulbs begin to pop and Katniss begins to lose focus. Her eyes start whipping widely around the hallway before they lock on mine.

"Give a memory or else I'll lose it," she whispers frantically.

"What? A memory? What do you mean?" I whisper back. My hands are stroking her checks and I search her eyes for any sign of what she means.

"A memory! A thought! A happy memory or thought!" Her voice is shaky and her lips are trembling.

_A happy memory? Like a distraction? _And then it dawns on me.

I waver only a second before I crush my lips to hers. This kiss isn't like the others. It's not careful. Not chaste. I part my lips at the same time she starts to respond. I lose my inhibitions with this kiss, allowing myself to finally move my lips with hers, desperately pushing and pulling, feeling them against my own. The only other time I've kissed Katniss like this was in the cave. I drag my tongue across her upper lip and feel her intake of breathe.

I forget where I am, focusing only on the feel and taste of her. I push my body closer to hers with such force that I shove her up against the wall. I tilt my head, a new angle, and deepen the kiss. I feel her grasp the hair at the back of my head. I run one of my hands down her bare back and groan into her mouth. _That dress_.

Katniss runs one of her hands down my chest, balling her fist in the material of my shirt and, as much as I hate it, I need to breathe. I rip my lips away from hers and start to gulp in air, keeping my eyes closed, licking my lips. I brace myself with one arm against the wall, bring my head down and rest my forehead on hers before I open my eyes. Katniss is breathing heavily as well, her eyes dark and hooded.

I feel the pop and snap of photographs being taken while Katniss and I remain entwined in each other's arms but I can't bring myself to care.

"That good enough?" I breath. She looks kissed. Lips swollen and wet, cheeks rosy, eyes glassy and dazed.

"What?" she murmurs, still breathing hard.

"Where are they? This is their party!" I hear Effie complain to no one in particular.

Katniss, woken from her stupor by Effie's voice, steps away from me. She hastily tries to wipe her red lipstick from my face and I can't help my enormous smile.

"Sorry," she tells me, her brow furrowed slightly.

"That is one of the stupidest things to be sorry for," I tell her and finally I see _that_ smile.


	9. Chapter 9

I stand off to the side as Effie meticulously wipes the lipstick from Peeta's face while talking to him in a low and condescending voice. She looks like a mother disciplining a child and he is trying very hard not to smile. I watch as the corners of his mouth quirk up every few seconds before he tries again to keep a straight face. The photographers are having a field day. My face burns because I know that kiss will undoubtedly be headline news tomorrow.

Suddenly, and with unparalleled force, my conversation with Snow comes to the front of my mind and I focus on not panicking. The bright and lavish colors that surround me are jarring and offensive reminders. The music from the dance floor is too loud, too grating. I had tried to collect myself in the elevator afterward but I knew it wouldn't work. I tried focusing on happy things, just generally happy moments, but I came up empty every time. The tricks Peeta taught me weren't working.

I don't really remember the elevator ride down from Snow's suite, or even exiting the elevator or how I managed to walk calmly to Peeta. I just remember the feel of his hands on my face and his mouth moving, forming words, and his blue eyes. I think I spoke to him but I was so terrified I can't recall. I saw his eyes go from worried to confused and then his mouth was on mine and the party disappeared. Snow disappeared and there was only Peeta and his lips and his hands and his tongue. And then, when he pulled away it was only Peeta and his heavy breathe on my face and his nose touching mine and the feel of his hand on my back and I needed to kiss him again. The hunger had come back, the same hunger I had experienced in the cave during the Games; an indescribable burn in the pit of my stomach, left unsatisfied after Peeta pulled away.

"And you!"

I snap my head at the sound of Effie's voice. She's stomping towards me now, armed with the red lipstick Cinna made me wear.

"That was quite unladylike!" Effie whispers harshly while smearing more lipstick on me. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you. Good gracious you two are uncontrollable. The press is going to eat this up tomorrow. Make you seem like two animals…" she was rambling and I glance over at Peeta, who is making his way toward us, smile gone.

"You two need to talk to more people. The party is for you, after all," Effie huffs before she grabs both our hands and marches us off into the ballroom.

"There are people who want to speak to you," she repeats.

The fear starts to bubble up again.

_"Ms. Everdeen, the President would like to speak with you."_

My damn hands start to shake again and Peeta takes them between his.

"Effie, I think Katniss is beginning to feel a little under the weather. I think I should take her back to her room," Peeta places his hand on the small of my back, gently pulling me closer, and my mind wanders briefly. _Lips and tongue and hands and—_

"Well she sure didn't look sick 3 minutes ago!" Effie nearly screeches. I blush crimson, not meeting Peeta's eyes. "You two speak to some more people for another hour and you can leave with Haymitch. Not that I would understand why you want to, of course," Effie mutters. It's strange hearing Effie mutter. Usually she speaks so clearly.

"Thank you, Effie," Peeta says gratefully. My mind is still swimming. I try not to think about anything, to make my mind go blank. I can't think about Snow without panicking and I can't think about Peeta without remembering that kiss.

"We're leaving and going back to District 12 as soon as the party is over tonight so the car will take you to the train, not the hotel," Effie continues.

"Thank you, Effie, really. This is all just so new to us," Peeta explains, trying to appease her. I look at Effie and her expression softens.

"Of course. Of course, I understand that. I will see you two tomorrow morning."

I nod and manage to produce what I hope is an appreciative smile. Effie teeters off on her ridiculous shoes and I look up at Peeta, who is concentrating on me, eyes full of concern.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly.

The fear comes back, coupled with confusion, and I push it away, to a corner of my mind where I can lock it up for now. I'll deal with it later, with the faucets running and the bathroom door closed.

"Yeah, I just—" I pause, take a deep breath and take his hand in mine. "Let's just get this over with, I guess."

I give Peeta a small smile and start to lead the way into the ballroom. His hand moves to my back again and my heart rate quickens. I try to push that memory to the far corners of my mind as well. _I'll deal with that later, too_, I think.

I scan the ballroom and see the three women Peeta and I had spoken to earlier making their way toward us. I wrap my arm around him possessively and steer him in the opposite direction. I can't look at them without wanting to rip their throats out. They look at Peeta like he's a peace of meat.

"Well look who it is. The couple of the hour."

I turn, arm still wrapped tightly around Peeta, and am met by none other than Finnick Odair. He's tall. Taller than Peeta. Taller than Gale, I think.

"Name's Finnick Odair. Nice to meet you, finally," he holds out a hand and Peeta shakes it. Finnick is all bronze hair, green eyes and white smile. I think I can understand why the Capitol is obsessed with him; he's even more attractive in person. It doesn't affect me though. I've never had a weakness for pretty things.

"Nice to meet you as well. I'm Peeta Mellark and this is Katniss Everdeen." I remove my arm from Peeta's waist and shake Finnick's hand. My eyes flicker to Peeta and I see he has his Capitol face painted on. He's so much better at this than I am.

"Crazy isn't it? This place. The first time I came here I was fourteen. That was 10 years ago, almost, and I still can't wrap my head around it." I take Peeta's hand again, feeling suddenly sick. Was Finnick fourteen when they sold him away? _What have they done to you?, _I think_. _

"It's incredible. We're in awe as well. Katniss?" Peeta is trying to get me to speak. I must seem strange, standing here in front of famed Finnick Odair, acting deaf and mute.

"Yeah-" I clear my throat. "Yes. It's lovely. Everyone's so nice and there's so much to see and do." I'm know I must sound like an idiot. But that's better, isn't it?

"Ah, yes. So much to _do_. By the way, you've got a little something," Finnick says, gesturing to my face, his eyes alight. "Something red. Lipstick? Oh, never mind. Yes, lots of fun things to _do_," he winks at me and I want to simultaneously slap him and curl up in a corner. I glance at Peeta, whose face has turned scarlet.

"I'm just messing with you," he laughs and smacks Peeta playfully on the shoulder. Peeta grins and pulls me to him, planting a quick kiss on my temple while I scowl at Finnick Odair.

"Aw, come on sweetheart, lighten up! Don't pretend you weren't having a good time. But if you'd prefer to get a taste of what District 4 has to offer I'm up for the challenge." Finnick says as he waggles his eyebrows. My scowl deepens and I look up to see Peeta stifling a laugh. I roll my eyes and turn back to Finnick.

"Thanks, but I'd say I'm pretty happy what I've got right here from District 12."

My mind drifts back to the kiss and I remember how Peeta pressed me tightly against the wall, how an electric current ran through me, from my belly all the way to my fingers and toes. I'm sure my cheeks match the color of my lips at this point. I glance at Peeta and see him blushing as well. _We match again. Effie would be ecstatic. _

"If you say so," Finnick laments. "Besides, you've marked your territory pretty well, I'd say. There are a few women in here who won't even look at him anymore lest they encounter that scowl of yours." He's joking and his tone his light but he's said something meaningful. You wouldn't be able to tell by looking at him, of course. Finnick's a complete professional, a Grade A actor. But I know better.

"That's good to know," I tell Finnick calmly as I look up at Peeta, who won't meet my eyes.

"Anyway, I think I'm needed over there," Finnick says as he points to a large group of women who are giggling and waving. I can't help my frown. I feel so bad for him. Not pity, of course. But sad. I wonder if there was a way he could have prevented this. If there was a way anyone could have prevented this life for him. I feel Peeta stiffen besides me and I take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly_. I won't let that happen to you._ I keep my conversation with Snow locked up. Later. I'll deal with that later.

"I just wanted to say 'hello' and enjoy the rest of your stay. No more gross public displays of affection, though, please?" Finnick says with a smile. Peeta laughs again and shakes Finnick's hand before the District 4 Victor walks away. I watch him as he saunters off, tapping three fingers of his right hand to his right leg. I've seen that before somewhere but can't remember when. People do things like that, though. They tap their fingers to their legs. A nervous habit, maybe. It can't mean anything.

* * *

Peeta and I work our way through the crowd, greeting dozens of Capitol citizens. I try to avoid the women but there's only so much I can do. They greet me out of obligation and talk straight to Peeta, like I'm not there. Peeta doesn't let this phase him, though. He answers their questions while looking straight at me, smiling, and the memory of that damn kiss rattles and shakes in the back of my mind.

It's been over an hour and both Peeta and I want to leave. We're making our way to the door when a plump man wearing a set of deep purple robes blocks our way. I smile my Capitol smile and Peeta greets him.

"Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen. My name is Plutarch Heavensbee. I'm the Head Gamemaker for the Third Quarter Quell. I just wanted to introduce myself. It's lovely to finally meet you." My stomach twists painfully. _The Quarter Quell._ It comes flooding back: the memory of my conversation with Snow. I struggle to push it away, gripping Peeta's hand tightly in the process and he wraps his arm around me.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Heavensbee," Peeta says calmly. Plutarch Heavensbee looks friendly, kind even, like he couldn't possible be designing the arena that will destroy the lives of God knows how many people.

"Are you excited to Mentor this year?" Heavensbee asks.

I start to feel dizzy. It feels like there's cotton in my ears and my grip on Peeta's hand turns vice-like. Peeta's eyes meet mine and he pulls me closer to him.

"Of course," Peeta says lightly. "We hope to help the District 12 tributes in whatever ways we can." Heavensbee responds with a smiles. I spot Haymitch just outside the doors, looking expectantly at Peeta and me. I swallow the lump in my throat and turn to the Head Gamemaker.

"Yes, we really hope to bring another District 12 Victor to the table," I tell him, struggling to make my voice strong. "I'm sure the arena will be magnificent."

Heavensbee looks at me warmly and I want to run away. Back to District 12. Back when there were no Games. Back to when there was no manipulation, no lies, no falsities.

Peeta glances out the doors and spots Haymitch climbing into a large black car.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Heavensbee, but our Mentor is out there waiting for us. I think we need to go. But it was nice to meet you and we'll be sure to meet again, I know," Peeta says, all the while keeping his arm wrapped around me tightly. I smile a farewell at Heavensbee and Peeta leads me out the large oak doors of Snow's mansion, past the tenacious photographers, and straight into the waiting car.

Haymitch is sitting there waiting, taking sips out of his flask. He nods at us and tells the driver, an Avox I think, to take us to the train. Once we begin to pull away, Snow's mansion receding in the background, I feel the tears start to drip down my cheeks. Peeta is there in an instant, his hands on either side of my face. I look into his deep blue eyes and whimper pathetically. I'm so scared. I'm so confused. My head hurts because I'm scared of what Snow said. My head hurts because I can't stop thinking about Peeta's lips and hands and tongue. He is so close to me our noses are touching. I wish he would just sit farther away so I could think. His proximity is too much but I'm too weak to push him away.

"Not yet," he whispers to me, his breathe warm on my face. "Just wait until we're on the train. Please, not yet."

He sounds slightly desperate. I glance at Haymitch. He's studying me carefully, his grey, Seam, eyes, unreadable. _What do you know_, he must be thinking.

I look back at Peeta and nod, hastily wiping the tears from my cheeks. _So weak_, I think to myself.

I spend the rest of the car ride staring at my hands. When I feel the car stop, I quickly get out and go straight to my compartment. I know Peeta will follow so I don't close the door. I rush into the bathroom, turn on the faucets and sit on the cold tile floor, grateful that the tears have stopped for now.

I look up as I hear Peeta enter the bathroom, closing the door behind him. His face is very serious, a picture of worry. He sits down next to me and takes my hand. I don't pull away, even though his hands in mine just remind me of his hands on my back and his lips and that kiss. How can I possibly handle the repercussions of Snow's conversation when I can barely clear my mind of Peeta. _So weak_.

"What did Snow say?" he asks softly and I look at him sadly, finally able to let the contents of my mind spill forward.

"I went in the elevator up to his suite or room or office or whatever it was. He was sitting there in big chair and he wasn't facing me. He was looking out the window."

Snow's office was on the top floor of his mansion and it had breathtaking views of the mountains. It smelled in there. Like someone had tried to cover up the smell of blood with a strong perfume. I had glanced warily around the room, noticing only the obscene amount of roses displayed like trophies on every surface. I disentangle my fingers from Peeta's and put my head in my hands.

Snow had greeted me like an old friend. He had turned around in that big chair and looked at me, smiling, his puffy lips stretched over his overly white teeth. He was wearing a very fancy suit, as red as the lipstick Cinna painted on me, accented with a white rose pinned to his collar.

"_You look lovely, Ms. Everdeen," he says softly, smiling that nasty smile. I stand straighter and clear my throat. I won't be weak. Not for him. _

"_Thank you, sir," I respond. Snow gets up from his chair and pours himself a drink of amber colored liquid. _

"_Can I get you anything, Ms. Everdeen?" he asks? "Brandy? Wine? Coffee? Tea?"_

"_No, thank you, sir," I respond, my back as straight as an arrow. Despite the fact that his gaze makes my skin crawl I don't remove my eyes from his._

"_If you say so," Snow concedes, as he takes his drink to the window. He stares out of it for a while, not speaking. It's making me anxious. Surely he has something to say. Why else would he invite me up here?_

"_Is there anything you wanted to tell me, sir?" I ask._

_Snow turns at the sound of my voice, as if he had forgotten I was there. He studies me, smiling. My hands begin to shake and I hold them behind my back. _

"_Oh, yes. I have many things to say to you, Ms. Everdeen," Snow grins, taking a long sip from his glass. I stare at him, grasping my hands together behind me. _

_Snow looks out the window again, idling swirling the amber liquid around, ice clinking together eerily.  
_

"_I just wanted to tell you that I believe you," he says facing the window. "You've done a good job with your act. I believe you."_

_I'm speechless._

_He turns to me again and his eyes are light, smile wide. I should be happy. I should be relieved. I did what he asked of me and, according to him, I've done a good job.  
_

"_You're a terrible actress," Snow continues. "and yet I believe you." He says simply, chuckling to himself. "It's funny how that works, isn't it? Love is a funny, fickle thing." I remain silent, unsure of what to say. What does he mean?_

"_I don't think your dear sister will be going into the arena," he says, wistfully staring off into the mountains again. "No. And I don't think Mr. Mellark will ever experience what some of these Capitol citizens have to offer in the same way Mr. Odair has." He smiles widely at me but I can't move. Something's wrong. _

"Your friend Mr. Hawthorne has obeyed the rules and has not needed to be punished. _Your family is safe. Excellent work. You may go," he says and he turns back around, sits in his chair and sips his drink while staring off into the snow-capped mountains. I stand there in shock. That's it? _

"_I said you may go, Ms. Everdeen." _

_It's a command, not up for discussion, and I walk, on wobbly legs, toward the door when I hear him address me one last time. _

"_Oh, and Ms. Everdeen?" I turn around. Snow hasn't moved. He's still staring out the window. "The Quarter Quell announcement will be in five days."_

"He said he believes me," I say, head still in my hands. "He said I did a good job with the act and that he doesn't think Prim will be Reaped. The Quarter Quell will be announced in five days."

Peeta is quiet, the only sound is the steady stream of water leaving the faucets.

"You're safe. He actually said it, too. Out loud. I should be happy right? I did it, he said everyone will be safe," I take my head out of my hands and look at Peeta. His expression is unreadable. "Prim is safe. Gale is safe. You're safe. Everyone's safe."

Peeta casts his eyes down and runs his hand along the tile floor.

"I don't know. That doesn't seem right," he murmurs.

"I'm so confused," I whisper. "I'm confused and scared because I don't trust him."

* * *

Peeta leaves to take a shower and I pace around my compartment trying to clear my head. I grab a pillow, run into the bathroom and scream into it, biting into the soft material. I throw it against the door and sink onto the floor, rubbing my temples. The train hasn't left the station, yet. I don't know what time it is. After midnight? I briefly wonder if Effie is back.

I lay down on the bathroom floor and the cold tile is soothing; it almost has a numbing effect, briefly quieting my busy mind. I lay there a while, staring at the ceiling, watching the steam from the flowing faucets cloud the room. I slowly climb into the shower and scrub my body free of makeup. I stand there, watching my fingers turn to prunes. It must be at least an hour later when I get out and change into my pajamas.

I walk down the hall and open Peeta's door. He's sitting by the window, staring out at the passing scenery.

"For a second I thought you may have drowned in the shower, or something" he says humorlessly, still looking out of the window. He seems to be just as weary as I am. Mentally spent.

I walk up to him and put my hand on his face. He closes his eyes at the contact, his golden eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. I kneel down and wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him to me and when Peeta's arms find their way around me and I can finally breathe.

I don't even plan to do these things, these embraces and caresses. They just happen, as if my body acts separate from my mind. Now that I've known what it feels like to be held by this boy I can't stay away. I crave the comfort he gives me and how safe he makes me feel. I want him to hold me tonight in his strong arms, protecting me from Snow and the Capitol and the Hunger Games. _So weak, Katniss._

"Can we go to sleep?" I ask him. I'm tired, both mentally and physically. I feel him nod into my neck. I pull away, walk over to the bed and climb in. Peeta is next to me soon after. We face each other and Peeta plays with the ends of my hair.

"You're not alone in this, Katniss," he says softly. "Remember that."

* * *

The next evening Peeta and I are sitting on the couch in the living compartment of the train. We'll be back in District 12 tomorrow morning. I've been sulking around the train all day, trying to ignore the clawing memory of my encounter with Snow. Peeta's tried to make me feel better but I think he gave up after a while. He's sketching something right now. I wanted to ask to see what it was but Peeta is oddly private about his drawings.

Effie walks into the room, looking hilariously worse for wear. It seems she took a page out of Haymitch's book after we left the mansion last night.

"Good morning," she says in a false cheery tone. Does she think she's tricking us? I glance at Peeta and he smirks at me.

"You mean 'good evening," I correct her.

"Of course. My apologies. I'm just a little under the weather," Effie shakes her head and I almost feel bad for her. "We're stopping in District 4 to refuel," she continues, like it's physically painful for her to speak. I've never been hungover so I'm not familiar with the feeling. "So if you want some fresh air you have about an hour before we're back on track."

Effie walks out of the room slowly and heads, I believe, to the dining compartment to get her hands on some toast or juice.

I look back out the window as the train slows to a stop. District Four. Blue-green water and warm weather. I liked District Four.

"Come with me." I turn to see Peeta stand up, gather his sketching supplies, and begin to head out the door of the train.

I don't want to go. I'm not in the mood. I can't stop thinking about Snow and our conversation and I'm still scared and confused.

On a separate note, Peeta and I seem to have come to an unspoken agreement to not discuss our kiss in Snow's mansion. I've all but tried to bleach it from my mind hoping that if I forget it, I won't be so distracted. It hasn't worked.

"Katniss, trust me. Just come here." I look up at him and he raises his eyebrows. I heave a sigh and follow him out of the train grudgingly. When my feet touch down on District Four turf warm air hits my face. There's a breeze. We're at the train station and I notice that it's so much more calm, actually quite pleasant, when photographer's aren't in your face. It smells like salt and I spy a drop off a few hundred yards away and the shimmering of water.

Peeta grabs my hand and walks swiftly in the direction of the ocean.

"For the next hour we won't talk about the Games or the Tour or the Capitol. For the next hour, forget them," he orders. I don't understand how that would even be possible considering I've been drowning in my thoughts of them for the past few months. I can't just forget them.

"Easier said than done," I croak, watching my feet. I look up and see the ocean, sparkling in the evening sun. They told us about it during our District Four Tour. I've wanted to swim in it ever since I laid eyes on it and I smile a little. The drop off turns out to be a small slope and I drop Peeta's hand and walk off toward the water.

I quickly take off my shoes and run, feeling the sand seep between my toes. I reach the water and close my eyes as I feel it hit my toes. It's cool and the breeze is warm and I focus solely on that, locking up my thoughts of the Capitol for now. Just the water and the sand and the sun. That's all there is.

"Peeta, come feel this!" I shout behind me. I don't hear him so I turn to see where he is and find him making his way toward me rather slowly. I turn my back to the water and walk back to him.

"Sorry, the sand's just kind of hard to walk on with my leg and all," he explains, smiling grandly despite the situation.

"Oh," I respond. I know he won't want me to say 'I'm sorry' so I don't. "Do you want to go swimming?" I ask. I want to.

"You swim, I'll just sit here and watch you."

"You don't want to swim?" It's all I could think about during our District Four tour. The water was so close but absolutely prohibited.

"I don't know how," he replies simply.

I guess that makes sense. There's no real reason why anyone from District 12 should know how to swim. The only reason I know is because my father taught me.

"I'll teach you. It's easy. Come on," I tug on his arm and Peeta laughs. I look at him expectantly.

"What if I drown?" he asks.

"Do you really think I'm that bad a teacher?" I ask, slightly annoyed.

"No. I'm just a lot bigger than you. And heavy. I don't want to sink," he says, hiding a smile.

"Fine, but I'm going in," I tell him and I begin to move toward the water.

Peeta moves in back of me and I turn to see him taking off his shirt.

"What are you doing?" I ask him, slightly alarmed. Peeta looks at me like I have three heads.

"Well I don't want to get my shirt wet, do I?" he responds while peeling the shirt from his body.

I've seen Peeta without a shirt on before, but it was different during the Hunger Games. He was dying and it was a life or death situation. He was covered in mud and blood. All I was thinking about then was how I was going to save his life. He was very thin.

He's put on weight since then. Muscle. His chest is wide and strong; his stomach is defined. My throat goes dry as I remember the way I shamelessly pawed at him the other night. Peeta tosses his shirt to the side and walks toward the water, swinging his arms back and forth like he's gearing up for a race. The muscles in his back move with each motion and I'm rooted to the spot, entranced.

"Are you coming or what?" Peeta asks me, looking over his shoulder. He's smirking. I'm caught.

"Uh, yeah," I reply stupidly, and I start to follow him.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you still wearing that?" Peeta asks, gesturing to my clothes. "They're gonna get wet."

"Oh, I—" I stutter. I didn't think this through. I'm wearing long pants, a long sleeve shirt and a tank top underneath. It's winter in most of the other districts, after all. "Hold on." I remove the long sleeve shirt and turn around, my face bright red. I walk towards Peeta again.

"What about your pants?" he asks, innocently. "They'd be awful heavy soaking wet."

I huff. He's right. I want to tell Peeta to forget I ever suggested this but I know that would be a disappointment to both him and myself. I really want to swim in this water. I hastily step out of my stupid pants and walk right past Peeta, into the water, not meeting his eyes. Once I'm up to my chest I dive in and swim underneath until I can't breath anymore. When I pop up for air, I'm out far enough where I can't stand. I turn back to Peeta, who looks slightly worried.

"Can you come back here?" he calls.

"Why?" I tease.

"Because you're out far and it's making me nervous. Plus you said you'd teach me to swim," he argues.

I swim back to where Peeta is. He's smiling radiantly.

"You're like a fish," he says, amused. "You'd never think you're from District 12."

My smile falters and think back to the hidden lake in the woods where my father taught me how to swim. It's a painful memory, reminding me of what I lost.

"My father taught me," I respond. I've never told anyone before. Not Gale. Not even Prim. "There's a lake in the woods outside the electric fence. I fish there sometimes."

I look up at Peeta. "It's my favorite place," I tell him softly.

Peeta nods, eyebrows knit together. I don't want to talk about this anymore so I start to teach Peeta how to swim. He flops around like a nervous fish and it makes me laugh. I teach him how to float on his back. We stay in shallower water. Swimming takes practice so Peeta won't be great in the small amount of time we have. He's a quick learner, though.

The water is warm. Warmer than the lake in 12. It's clear, too, and I can see straight down to my feet. I squish them in the sand and see a small crab scuttle away. I think I've tasted crab before. Maybe on the train at some point. I see Peeta's still wearing his shoe on the foot of his prosthetic leg.

"Does it hurt?" I ask him. Peeta looks at me confused. "Your leg, I mean."

Peeta looks down at his leg. He's wearing pants, I realize and it aggravates me. _"They're gonna get awful wet."_ Hypocrite.

"Nope. How do you think I shower?" he asks with a smile. I blush and shake the image of Peeta in the shower from my mind.

"Are you supposed to sleep with it?" I ask.

"No. It actually kind of hurts when it's on for too long."

"Why don't you take it off, then?" He's had his prosthetic leg on every night we've slept together. I know because I can feel the hard metal pressed against me. I don't mind but if it's uncomfortable for Peeta that's a different story. That's almost two months he's been in pain.

"I didn't think you'd want to see my leg," Peeta says softly. I look up at him and he's staring down into the water. "You're kind of queasy, remember?"

First I'm angry because Peeta's been uncomfortable every night to try and make me more at ease and that's ridiculous. Then I feel guilty because I'm the one who caused this.

"That wouldn't make me queasy, Peeta. I'm only bad with blood and open wounds."

He turns to look at me, the bluish green of the water making his eyes even more impossibly blue.

"We should get out and dry off," Peeta changes the subject. "Effie will be coming for us soon, anyway."

I nod and we make our way out of the water, walking carefully in the soft sand. I jog quickly toward our clothes. My tank top is wet and clinging, leaving little to the imagination. I won't even think about the fact that I'm only wearing my underwear.

I'm just pulling on my pants when Peeta calls to me. He's still at the water's edge, bending down and picking something up. I walk over to him, ringing the water from my hair, and he looks up at me.

"Look what I found. Sea glass," he beams as he hands it over to me. It's a blue shard of glass, the edges smooth and worn away. I turn it over in my hand, admiring it. It doesn't look like glass. It's not as harsh, not as severe. It's about half the size of my palm, a strange little trapezoid.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Peeta asks. I look up at him. He's smiling slightly, his eyes sparkling in the setting sun.

"It's beautiful," I tell him, handing it back to him.

"No, you have it," Peeta closes my hand around the glass and I feel the smooth edges press into my skin.

"No you're the one who found it-" I begin.

"Don't be a pain. I picked it up so I could give it to you," Peeta smiles. He's soaking wet and the way the sun is moving lower in the sky makes his body look like it's shining. Droplets of water are snaking their way down his torso and I switch my gaze away from him and back to the water before he catches me staring.

"Ok. Well, thank you," I respond and I walk back towards Peeta's clothes on the beach, and plop down on the sand. Peeta sits next to me, staring into the horizon. He looks so calm and happy. I lie down on the sand and close my eyes, letting the breeze push my hair over my face. I feel the sand move next to me as Peeta lies down.

I stretch out on the sand letting the warm sun dry my clothes. This is so different. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest and for the first time in weeks, Snow and the Capitol and the threats they pose aren't looming over my head. It's almost like nothing bad could happen in this beautiful place. _Maybe Peeta wasn't so crazy, after all._

I smile for the first time in hours. I'm happy in this moment. Truly happy.

Peeta has been quiet for a long time now.

"Aren't you quiet," I joke, looking over at him, as I lie in the sand. Peeta pushes off the sand and props himself up with one arm. "What, have you finally decided to stop talking?" I ask him again with a smile, closing my eyes.

"I want to kiss you."

I open my eyes and Peeta is staring at me, an intense expression written on his face. His eyes lock on mine and I realize that they are the exact same shade of blue as the sea glass he gave me earlier. My stomach flips and I remember our last kiss. He's still staring. My stomach pools with warmth and I can feel it branching out to the far ends of my body. He's still staring, and my heart skips a beat. It's my call. Whatever I want. _But what do I want?_ We've never kissed without the cameras. This would be crossing a line and yet I want to kiss him. My eyes move down to his lips. I _really_ want to kiss him.

Maybe this one time, on this beach, in this sand, because it's sunset and that's Peeta's favorite color, because in my pocket I have a piece of sea glass, and I'm happy in this moment, I will allow it. _Just this once._

I look back up to his eyes, which have darkened considerably. He's moved closer as well, his face blocking the setting sun. _I really want to kiss him._

"Ok," I whisper. "Kiss me." He moves closer to me and my eyes flutter closed.

"Good friends don't do this," he warns, his lips brushing my own, my heart pounding.

"No, they don't," I answer and I bring my mouth up to his. He tastes like salt and his lips move over mine slowly, deliberately. Peeta brings his hand to the side of my face. My heart is beating so rapidly I can feel it in my ears. I let my hand wander down his neck. I can't think about anything other than how perfect this moment is. I wish I could freeze it, live in it forever, and the thought makes me smile.

"Don't smile," Peeta breathes, kissing me again. "I can't kiss you if you're smiling." This only makes me smile wider and then Peeta is smiling and his teeth are hitting mine and the moment is ruined but it's still perfect. Peeta groans and flops back down on the ground.

"I'm very angry at you right now," Peeta complains and I laugh.

"Maybe if you're nice, I'll let you kiss me again one day," I tease. Peeta closes his eyes and sighs sadly, like he knows that was a one-time deal. Because on this beach no one can touch us.

"We should go back," he says, "It's getting dark." I look out to the water and see that the sun has disappeared over the horizon. But I don't want to go. I want to kiss him without smiling because I ruined the first one. Because I can't let it happen again. Because only on this beach was it allowed.

"I don't want to go either," I hear him say.

I turn and see Peeta watching me. His face is close and I look down at his lips again. My heart starts to race again but I force myself to turn away.

"Come on," I tell him quietly, as I stand up and brush the sand off me. I shouldn't have let him kiss me. I always realize that after the fact, don't I?

Peeta pulls his shirt back on and grabs his sketchbook.

"Did you want to sketch something?" I ask him, hoping to steer my mind in a different direction.

"Yeah. But don't worry," he says lightly as he walks ahead of me. "I think I'll remember this day pretty clearly."

* * *

The happiness I felt on the beach disappears almost immediately once we enter the train. Effie is waiting for us, ready to scold us like children for being sandy and slightly damp. Peeta goes to shower and I return to my compartment. I sit on the bed and pull out Peeta's sea glass. I turn it over and over in my fingers and it's almost like I'm back on the beach with Peeta. _Almost._

A dark cloud is descending over my happy memory. _I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have let that kiss happen._

My memories of Snow and the upcoming Quarter Quell hit me suddenly, as hard as a sledgehammer to the chest. I'm knocked out. Exhausted. Weary. Because I don't want to think about this anymore but I can't stop. I'm angry because I don't want to think about it anymore but I can't stop. I'm confused because I don't know what Snow meant. I'm scared because I don't know what the future holds.

I shower and meet Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, Portia, and Peeta in the dining compartment. I'm not particularly hungry but I eat because I know I should. I glance at Peeta every few minutes. The area under his eyes is red.

"You're sunburned, Peeta," I tell him.

He looks up at me and smiles, reminding me of the way our teeth hit together on the beach. I know it was a mistake and I want so badly to regret it but I can't. I should but I can't.

"I know. Stings a little," he shrugs turning back to his food. The tip of his nose is burned as well. Peeta must sense me staring at him because he glances up at me quickly and grins.

"_Don't smile. I can't kiss you if you smile."_

I groan inwardly. I want to kiss him again and that's dangerous. Instead I frown and focus on my food. _What happened on the beach can't happen again. It was a bad idea._ I repeat the words in my head like a mantra, hoping to convince myself of their truth.

"So, tomorrow morning we will arrive in District 12. Tomorrow evening there will be a party at the Mayor Undersee's home. And that concludes the Victory Tour," Effie explains. She looks a bit sad, like she wouldn't mind staying on this train forever. I wonder if she has friends in the Capitol. I wonder if she has friends at all.

"They will be airing a recap of the Tour the next night, isn't that great?" She looks excitedly between Peeta and I. I try to smile. Prim will want to watch that.

Everyone finishes dinner at their own pace. I linger, poking at the food on my plate.

"Katniss." I look up and see that Peeta's still at the dinner table. "Are you alright?"

I take a sip of water and nod. Peeta studies me silently.

"I'll be in my room, I guess," he says when I don't speak, and he walks out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

I stay in the dining compartment a while longer, slowly sipping glass after glass of water, frowning at the dark window. I walk back to my room and brush my teeth. I sit on my bed a while and hold the sea glass in my hands, rubbing the smooth surface, trying to sort through everything in my extremely crowded mind.

I'm late to Peeta's room again. I've gotten too attached to him and I know what happens to the people I get attached to. Bad things. I promise myself that once we're back in District 12 I will stop these sleepovers. I have to. I shouldn't have started them in the first place but I was too weak. Maybe if I stay away from him my feelings for him will as well. But I've known what it's like to feel his body against mine. To share his warmth and hug him to me. _It's useless._

I don't knock, knowing that the door will be open. I expect to see Peeta sitting by the window but he's propped up in bed, sketching in his notebook. He's not wearing a shirt.

"Hi," he greets me, not looking up from his notebook.

"Hey," I answer, standing awkwardly by the door. When I don't move Peeta looks up, face pink from the sun.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"I just…where's your shirt?" I try to make my voice casual but it comes out more like a squeak.

"I got more sunburned than I thought. It hurts to have a shirt on. I can put one on, though, if you want," he looks back down at his sketch while I try to find a coherent response.

"No," I say a little to loudly. "No. Do what's comfortable for you."

I crawl under the covers and watch him sketch for a while, trying to ignore the fact that he's basically naked. It's not working. _You shouldn't have let him kiss you, Katniss. You shouldn't even be here, _I repeat over and over, not really hearing the words.

He gets up to put away his sketchbook and I notice the slight limp. I wasn't paying close enough attention before to notice. He tries to hide it but after our conversation on the beach I expect it.

"Peeta?"

He looks up at me, his hair falling into his eyes.

"You should take off your leg," I say quietly.

"No. I'm fine, really." Peeta turns away from me and closes the dresser drawer.

"I won't mind. You don't have to worry about me, I'm not queasy like that." Peeta doesn't look convinced. He continues to walk around, ignoring my request.

"I won't sleep if you're wearing it," I add and I know it's the truth. I won't be able to sleep knowing he's uncomfortable.

Peeta looks at me, sighs deeply and finally sits down on the bed. I watch him detach the metal prosthetic and put it next to the bed on the floor. His back still turned to me, Peeta rubs the end of his bad leg slowly through his pants, like he's soothing an aching muscle. His pant leg is too long on that side and that fact tugs at me a little bit.

He looks back, gauging my response. The whole scenario is very intimate. It's the most private moment we've shared together. More private than our time on the beach, or any other night on this train, because this is the most vulnerable Peeta's ever been. My chest swells from the inside. It's a strange feeling and it startles me for a moment.

Peeta rolls back the blankets and slips in, inching closer to me.

"If it freaks you out, you have to promise to tell me." He's not as close to me as he usually is. I move closer, ignoring my inner protests, and hesitantly put my head on his chest. The skin is warm from the sun.

"You don't freak me out," I answer. We stay like this a while and I stare at the freckles on his stomach, feeling the rise and fall of Peeta's chest.

"Is it more comfortable? Without it?" I ask quietly.

"Yeah. A lot," he breathes. "Thank you."

I close my eyes and listen to Peeta's heartbeat. I can't fall asleep because my mind is still racing, trying to piece together the ever confusing puzzle pieces that are my emotions. It's strange that I can be so adamant about staying away from Peeta but the moment I put my head on his chest, the moment his lips touch mine, the only thing I want to do is stay right there with him. Now that I know this, I'm not sure I can stay away from it. It's terrifying.

"I'm scared of this, Peeta," I confess and he breathes deeply.

"I know, but there's nothing you can do to stop anything anymore. You've done everything you can," he whispers, almost asleep. I nod. He's right, there's nothing else I can do. I've tried everything.

It's only in the dream-like state between consciousness and sleep that I realize we were thinking of two separate things.

* * *

That night I dream I am sprinting down a dimly lit hallway. The smell of blood is pushing me forward. I run, faster and faster, until I come to a drop-off. I stumble and fall, but at the last minute I'm able to grab hold of the ledge. I'm holding on for dear life and, despite my better judgement, I look below me. It's bright tunnel and the smell of blood is creeping into my nostrils from the hallway above. I want to let go but I'm scared of falling. I can hear Peeta calling my name below. I look down and see him, a tiny figure, waving his arms.

"Let go! I'll catch you," he calls but I grip the ledge more tightly. My fingers are slipping and my heart beats faster. I can't hold on much longer.

"Katniss, just trust me! I'll catch you!" he calls again. My fingers keep slipping and I desperately try to hold onto the ledge but it's no use. I'm hurtling down this bright tunnel and there's nothing I can do to stop myself. It's scary and I'm tumbling down, faster and faster. I see Peeta waiting for me at the bottom, getting bigger and bigger the faster I plunge down. Strangely, the closer I get to him, the less scary it seems and I find myself thinking, "It's not so bad, falling down this bright tunnel into Peeta's arms."


	10. Chapter 10

I've slept late. I can tell because of the way the light streams in through the windows of the train. It has to be past nine o'clock. If I were trying to hunt today, I would have lost my opportunity.

"Good morning sleeping beauty."

It's then when I realize where I am: in Peeta's bed, tangled in his sheets, lying on top of his bare chest. I shoot up so quickly I almost fall out of the bed but Peeta grabs my arm and brings me back to him.

"Not so fast, no one's come to bother us yet," he says, a grin pulling at his lips. He's being bold. All other times I've woken up with him and pulled away he's let me go.

I realize I'm being bold as well because I'm not fighting him. Maybe it's not so much boldness as bravery. Finally I'm brave enough to stay where I want.

I lie back down next to him and he turns on his side to look at me.

"You must be happy to be going back," he says, small smile on his face. With all the events taking place these past few weeks I had almost forgotten that I'm on my way home. I'm met with a feeling of relief.

"I'm excited to see Prim," I smile. "I've missed her. And my mother and Gale too."

I can't wait to see Prim, to actually have her close to me where I can protect her. It's been a constant worry, wondering if she's safe or not. All three of them— Prim, mother, Gale— have been on my mind constantly since Snow came to visit me in 12 before the Victory Tour. I've worried most about Prim, of course. My mother hasn't been my biggest concern but she is still there, and despite the fact that Gale and I were on strange terms before I left I can't help but miss him. He's my best friend, after all.

I look back at Peeta and see that he has a strange expression on his face.

"Are you happy to be going back?" I ask.

"Of course," he answers. "I get to see my brothers, I guess. I get to bake again," he laughs. I see something pass over his eyes as he looks at me and he brings his hand up to rest on my cheek.

"But in some ways I'm sad for this Tour to be over," he says softly, looking over my face. I swallow the lump in my throat because I think I know where he's going with this. "I've been able to spend all day and night with you."

He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't have to. I've hoped that the closer we got to District 12 these new and strange feelings I have towards Peeta would disappear, evaporate like smoke. They haven't. If anything they've become stronger. I close my eyes briefly because I can't look at him yet. I wish I could tell him how I feel but how can I if I don't understand those feelings myself?

I sit up and Peeta's hand falls from my cheek. I see the panic cross his features. He thinks he's said something wrong but he's only spoken what I can't seem to formulate into words. He scoots up a little, leaning on the headboard. His face is still slightly pink from yesterday's sun and I bring my hand up and touch his burnt nose.

"Oww," he groans, turning his face away from me and I smile.

"Sorry." My voice is low and Peeta turns back to look at me.

"Oh yes, totally your fault. You should be incredibly sorry for yesterday," he jokes.

"_Don't smile. I can't kiss you if you smile."_

My smile disappears almost instantly and Peeta takes notice. His brow furrows in confusion. How many times have I told myself I should be sorry for yesterday? How many times have I failed to listen?

"Hey," he says softly, sitting up slightly. "What's wrong?"

Does he really have no idea? His lips form a straight line as he studies me and it takes all of my willpower not to attack them with my own. I should be sorry for yesterday but I'm not. Not at all. I would do it again. All of it.

I don't remove my hand from his face. Instead I run my fingers over his cheeks and up to the burnt area under his eyes. I trail them down the sides of his face and along his jaw, watching it clench as I slowly move my fingers. I swallow thickly and my eyes move back to his lips, which are now slightly parted. I move my fingers over them, feeling Peeta's warm breath.

I wonder what would happen if I kiss him; if that same fire would be there-in the pit of my stomach. If kissing him will take away any of my confusion or give me any answers. My fingers hover over his lips and I finally meet his eyes. He looks confused. Why shouldn't he be? I'm probably the most confusing person he knows. I'm definitely the most confusing person _I_ know.

I realize I haven't answered his question. What's wrong? _Only everything._ But right now? _What's wrong is that I can't stop thinking about kissing you, Peeta._

"I…"

The word is suspended in the air and neither of us moves. Peeta continues to stare at me, his eyes a dark, dark blue. Like the deep part of the ocean we saw yesterday. Like they were before he kissed me on the sand.

And that's all I need to push me forward.

I bring my lips to his hesitantly and kiss him once, twice, three times, eyes never leaving his. Peeta remains rooted to the spot. _That's not how I want this to go_.

The fourth time my lips meet his I'm more aggressive, sucking and pulling so that he has no choice but to respond. His hand comes to rest on the back of my neck, the other trails down my side.

I bring one of my hands up and knot my fingers in his hair while the other moves down his chest and traces the muscles of his stomach. Peeta's mouth opens and he emits a strange little moan as his abdomen tightens beneath me. I see my opportunity and slip my tongue into his mouth.

He grips my waist where my shirt has ridden up and I move closer, leaning almost all of my body weight on him. He moves his hand from my neck, down to my waist, and rolls us over so he is hovering over me.

Peeta presses me flush against him and I can feel his excitement. It doesn't scare me, though. Not the way I had always thought it would. I'm not naïve; I can feel him in the morning sometimes, which would always unsettle me and cause me to pull away. Not now. Now I want to be even closer to him but Peeta pulls his mouth away from mine, breathing heavily, before he starts placing open-mouthed kisses all over my neck, making me squirm in the most amazing way. I can't speak, I can't even breathe, so I just press my face into Peeta's shoulder, focusing on the things he's doing to my neck.

"Get up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!"

Effie knocks loudly on the door and I push myself out from underneath Peeta and jump out of the bed.

Peeta rests his head on the pillow; breath ragged, cheeks pink, eyes burning. There's no doubt that I look exactly the same.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't…I just…" I'm at a loss for words. _Like always_.

"I should go."

My voice is husky and it sounds strange coming out of my mouth. I walk quickly across the room and out of the door, looking only at the ground as I hurry back to my room, touching the place on my neck where Peeta's mouth had been moments before.

* * *

I don't have much time to myself before my prep team barges into my room. They chat between themselves, upset that this is the last day they will get to spend with me.

They tend to me while my mind wanders back to Peeta. That's always where it ends up, isn't it? I'm so distracted by our last kiss that Snow and the Capitol don't even enter my mind. _I should be more focused on that_, I think.

I feel someone tapping my shoulder and I turn to see Venia speaking to me but I haven't heard a single word she's said.

"What?"

Venia smirks and shares a look with Octavia.

"I asked where this came from," Venia says, pointing to my neck.

"What do you mean?" I ask as I go to look in the mirror. Octavia follows me, grinning widely. I look at my neck in the mirror and see that it's covered in faint purplish marks.

"Oh," I breathe. I don't know how to answer her question. Did Peeta do that? I search my mind looking for an appropriate answer.

"I…I tripped," I lie.

This causes Venia to burst out into giggles and I'm blushing so deeply my entire face is red.

"It's perfectly natural, Katniss," Octavia smiles. "Besides it's not even that bad yet. It's going to look terrible tomorrow." Suddenly she has an idea. "Here let me give you something."

I watch her go into one of her many different makeup bags and see her pull out a syringe.

"What is that?" I ask, alarmed. Whenever anyone from the Capitol comes at me with a needle I automatically start to panic. Octavia just rolls her eyes and sticks the needle into my arm, making me wince.

"It's a birth control shot," she explains. I just stare at her, wide-eyed. Birth control? "For protection," she elaborates. As the realization sinks in I become livid. The nerve of her to assume I would need this. That I want this product from the Capitol. Venia sees my sudden anger and touches my arm gently.

"Katniss, this way you can be with Peeta without worrying about getting pregnant. It lasts three months," she says slowly, as if she were explaining this to a child.

My face burns and I want to hide in the corner. I want to yell at them that I'm not having sex with Peeta. That I don't plan to have sex with him, or anyone for that matter, and that they should just mind their own business. But then I remember that they _would_ assume I would be doing such things. After all, we're supposed to be in love, right?

But I find it strange that Venia and Octavia would assume I don't want a baby. That's what everyone in the Capitol wants, don't they? A perfect little baby from the perfect star-crossed lovers.

Octavia senses my confusion and starts to speak softly.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, shaking her head and not meeting my eyes. "I just thought that you wouldn't want to risk that right now. What with your situation."

She looks ashamed and I'm surprised because I wasn't aware my prep team was smart enough to realize the danger an unwanted baby would be for me. Maybe Cinna has had a bigger influence on them than I thought.

"You're right," I nod at her. I feel badly for lashing out. "Thank you."

I close my eyes, refusing to look at my red face in the mirror as Flavius comes in, no doubt holding all the makeup I'm going to be wearing.

"We don't need all of this," Venia tells him. "Cinna said beauty base zero."

_That's good_, I think. At least I won't be wearing as much makeup as I have in the past. Less to wash off once I get back to my house in the Victor's Village.

I feel someone touching my neck, strategically placing makeup over the marks Peeta left. I close my eyes and wait for the onslaught to be over.

After a while Cinna comes in and instructs me to turn around. My prep team has left my hair alone and Cinna styles it into my signature braid. He gives me a pair of tight back pants and a green, flowing shirt to wear. He points to a pair of flat gold shoes in the corner of the room and I'm thankful that he's put me in this for my return back to District 12. It's almost as if I'm myself again. That is, of course, except for the purple marks on my neck and my general feelings towards Peeta.

I'm surprised that, despite my immense embarrassment, I don't regret this morning. Not one bit and I find that it doesn't scare me as much as it did yesterday or the day before. It makes my head hurt.

Cinna doesn't comment on my neck even though I'm sure he can notice the extra amount of makeup that's been placed there. Instead he gives me a hug and leads me out of my compartment. I turn around to thank him and see that he's holding the sea glass that Peeta gave me yesterday.

"I figured you would want this," Cinna says with a smile. I can't believe I almost forgot that. I smile genuinely and take the glass, putting it in the pocket of my pants.

"Thank you," I tell him sincerely and he just grins at me knowingly. I decide that's what I like about Cinna. He and I can communicate without saying much. He seems to understand my weird mental state just by looking at me, which is more than I can say for even myself.

I walk down the hallway, my hand on the pocket of my pants where the sea glass is safely stored.

I'm the last one to arrive by the door of the train. Haymitch, Effie and Peeta are all waiting for me. I notice that Peeta is also wearing casual clothes, a simple grey shirt and black pants. He looks more like himself in those. But at the same time I guess he doesn't really look like himself, does he? At least not in the way I used to look at him. He's different now. He's been different for a while, hasn't he? It just took me longer to notice it.

Haymitch clears his throat and looks at Effie who is, again, oblivious to everyone.

"You can cut the sexual tension in here with a knife. Ain't that right, Trinkett?"

Peeta turns a deep shade of red and shoves Haymitch so forcefully that he hits the wall of the train, spilling his flask all over himself in the process. Effie gasps but Haymitch is laughing so hard I don't even think he notices he's covered in alcohol.

"I don't know why you're upset, boy, will you just look at her? She's been eyeing you like a piece of steak. Looks like a cat in heat," he says as he continues to laugh.

I glare at Haymitch so fiercely that I think I succeed in scaring him slightly. His expression turns serious for a moment before he starts to laugh even harder.

"Nope! Glaring won't cover it up, sweetheart!"

"Enough, Haymitch, leave them alone," Effie tells him harshly and suddenly I feel like hugging her. "It's not their fault they're so in love. Although I still think it's not very proper of them to be sharing a room at night."

Haymitch's eyes widen and he guffaws, slapping his knee happily. My momentary affection for Effie rapidly disappears.

"Oh, this is priceless!" Haymitch cries, tears of laughter spilling out of the corners of his eyes. "Is that right you two?"

I look up at Peeta and see him staring at the ground in front of him, face so red it looks purple. Ignoring Haymitch's laughter, I stand up straighter, pull my shoulders back, and walk up to Peeta. I take his hand in mine, stare at the closed door in front of us, and wait for Effie to call us out of the train.

Haymitch continues to chuckle idiotically against the wall and when he is introduced, he is still laughing, surely causing some confusion amongst the photographers. Haymitch rarely even smiles in front of the cameras.

Peeta exhales deeply besides me. I know I should talk to him.

_But about what?_ About the fact that we were all over each other this morning and now we can't even look at the other person? That I can't stop thinking about him to the point that even my concerns about Snow and the Quarter Quell have been put on the back burner?

Suddenly the doors to the train open and Effie introduces us. We step out, hand in hand, photographers yelling and snapping photos. It takes Peeta all but three seconds before he pulls me to him and kisses me hard on the mouth. I'm surprised at first but my arms find their way around his neck and my body reacts of it's own accord. Kissing him has become so natural it almost feels like breathing. I don't even doubt it when I feel his tongue hit my upper lip.

In the back of my head I realize that Prim and Mother and Gale are in the crowd watching this happen. I hastily pull away, trying to clear my head, and look out into the sea of people and spot them not far from the front.

Peeta, having followed my gaze, realizes his mistake and looks at me, slightly anxious. To anyone else watching this exchange, Katniss Everdeen and her boyfriend were caught kissing by her overprotective mother. But I know that's not his concern. Outward displays of affection are not my thing, especially in front my family, and he's worried he's crossed a line.

But I'm the one whose crossed the line. I crossed it on the beach and again this morning.

_But you don't regret it do you, Katniss?_

That's the most unnerving realization I've come to: that I don't regret crossing those invisible lines. The problem is that I don't what it means. I shake the thought from my mind and find my mother and Prim in the crowd again. They're staring at us, wide-eyed.

Suddenly, Prim breaks into an enormous smile and starts clapping and cheering wildly. I smile at her obvious joy and turn to look at my mother. She isn't smiling. In fact, she looks sad. But why? I decide not to dwell on it because, frankly, I've given up trying to understand the intricacies of my mother's mind. At least not while the cameras are still on me.

I catch a movement in the crowd and look to see Gale pushing through everyone, walking quickly away from the train station and guilt creeps its way into my system. He shouldn't have seen that. I shouldn't have let that kiss happen with him here.

I should've…

_I should've, what?_

Not kissed Peeta because it might hurt Gale's feelings? I would be lying to everyone if I pretended I didn't want that kiss. That I didn't want any of the kisses I shared with Peeta these past few weeks.

I must have frozen up because Peeta squeezes my hand, reminding me to stay in the present. I force a smile and wave to the photographers all the while trying to clear my head.

After a few moments Peeta and I make our way down the steps and into the crowd. I make a beeline towards my family, not fully realizing that I'm dragging Peeta along until we come to a stop.

"Katniss!" Prim squeals as she jumps up to hug me. I drop Peeta's hand and clutch Prim to my chest. I'm so thankful she is in one piece. I'm thankful that I'm here, back in District 12 with Prim and as far away from the Capitol as physically possible. I pull back and look at her.

"Well hello Little Duck," I smile, tugging on one of her braids, which I've noticed have gotten longer in the time we've spent apart. She swats me away and glances behind me.

"Peeta!" Prim yells as she jumps out of my arms and into his. Peeta bends down, picks Prim up and spins her around until she's laughing so hard she can barely breathe.

And I feel it again; that same tug in my chest that I felt when Peeta took off his leg last night. It warms me from the inside out. Peeta meets my eyes, smiling, and places Prim gently on the ground.

I want to kiss him again. Or hug him or _something_. Just have him close to me. I walk over and take his hand. He brings it up to his mouth and places a kiss on my knuckles.

"I have to go see my family. They're in the bakery. But I'll see you tonight at Mayor Undersee's?" Peeta asks, still holding my hands in his.

"Ok. Yeah. I'll see you tonight then."

"Where something nice, will you?" he says with a smile, knowing full well that Cinna will let me wear nothing less.

"Right back at you," I tell him and he kisses my knuckles one last time before he disappears into the crowd.

* * *

I walk with Prim back to our house in the Victor's Village. Mother went to the Seam. The mines aren't safe and even my return hasn't slowed down the rate at which miners are injured. Mother is needed almost constantly. She's promised to come back to the Victor's Village before I leave for the party at Mayor Undersee's house, though; Cinna has asked her to do my hair.

My feet leave tracks in the dusting of snow on the roads. It's very cold in District 12; nothing like it was in District 4. Prim and I could've taken a car but she said she wanted to walk with me and I happily agreed, even if it means braving the December cold without a jacket.

Prim grabs my hand I look down to see her smiling so wide it fills her entire face.

"What's got you smiling like that?" I ask.

"You."

"You missed me, huh?" I ask, pulling on her hand. Prim rolls her eyes.

"Absolutely not."

I laugh because Prim has become so sarcastic and so feisty very quickly. I never knew she had it in her.

"I see you've taken my advice," she continues.

"Huh?"

"About Peeta. You finally let yourself love him!" she says excitedly.

"What?" I almost shout and then I lower my voice so nobody can here us. "I told you I don't love him."

I realize rather quickly that that's not true because I do love him, just like I love Prim and Mother and Gale, just not in the way I think he loves me. Not in the way he wants me to love him. I'm his friend. His good friend.

_Right?_

But then I think back to this morning and note that good friends certainly don't roll around half naked while sticking their tongues in the other's mouth.

I look down at Prim and see that she's grinning defiantly at me.

"You're an idiot," she says simply.

"Excuse me?" I ask incredulously.

"I said you're an idiot. Everyone can see you love him. It's so _obvious_," she sighs exasperatedly before she continues. "My god, Katniss, if you could just look at yourself when you're with him. I don't even recognize you! You look…I mean…there aren't any words for it."

"You're just a romantic and want to see love in everything. Sometimes it doesn't work like that," I counter quickly.

"Whatever Katniss, I'll stop bothering you about it, okay?" she huffs. "I just don't see why you're trying to hide it so much," Prim grumbles while kicking a stray rock on the side of the road. I think I've upset her but whatever exists between Peeta and me is none of her business.

We walk in silence a bit longer. I can see our house in the Victor's Village in the distance.

"You wouldn't be kissing him like that if you didn't love him," I hear Prim say quietly as she lets go of my hand.

I watch her walk ahead of me and into the house. I pause and then follow her, walking up the stairs, through the house, and up to my bedroom, trying desperately to forget the conversation we just had. I flop down on the bed and burry my head in the pillows, trying to drown out the little voice in the back of my mind that keeps telling me Prim is right.

* * *

That night Cinna comes into my room with two dresses. One for me and one for Prim. The look on Prim's face as he pulls out the light blue gown is something I will remember for the rest of my life.

"Oh, Cinna! It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" she says as she lightly runs her fingers over the soft fabric. Cinna shares a quick look with me and then turns back to Prim.

"Well, what would you have worn to the party tonight?" he asks, crouching down to her level.

"You mean I can go?" Prim's excitement is through the roof and I find I'm actually looking forward to going to Mayor Undersee's house just to see Prim have a good time.

"I didn't realize that family can go to this," I say to Cinna, surprised.

"They made an exception with your family. Actually they made an exception with District 12. I think Mayor Undersee invited a variety of people who are important to you and Peeta," Cinna explains as he pulls out the other dress. It's dark green and short with fairly thick straps. "This is your dress, by the way," Cinna says with a grin.

I take the piece of clothing in my hands. It's a soft material. I didn't pay attention to the types they introduced to us in District 8 but I have no doubt that it's expensive. I turn it around and my stomach falls to my feet. There's virtually no back to this dress, just like the black one I wore in the Capitol. This one is slightly different, though. The back is held together by a criss-crossing of fabric at the shoulders and the bottom is left open. I see that the back is cut in such a way that parts of my stomach will be exposed.

I look up at Cinna, my smile gone. He just laughs, takes the dress from my hands and turns to Prim.

"Look at your sister's dress, Prim," he instructs her.

Prim dutifully takes the dress in her hands, turns it over, and her eyes go wide.

"Wow," she whispers as she looks between Cinna and me. Prim runs her hand over the material and then returns the dress to me.

"Peeta will love that," she says to no one in particular, and she leaves my room.

* * *

A car is waiting for us outside the Victor's Village, ready to take us to Mayor Undersee's house in town. Luckily Cinna didn't make me wear sky-high heels tonight, which I think is only fair considering the dress he's put me in. He had my mother do my hair in the same way she did for my Reaping, braided and pulled back. I'm not wearing much makeup either, only a bit of shadow on my eyes and gloss on my lips. I cringe at the fact that I can now name the types of makeup my prep team uses.

Prim looks amazing. Her hair is curled and flowing. Cinna put her in barely any makeup at all, probably because she doesn't need any, only focusing on making her lips pink and shiny. The blue dress fits her perfectly and when it hits the light it sparkles. I can already tell Prim will have a good time twirling around the dance floor with it on.

My prep team was upset to go but they assured me that they could'nt wait to see me again for the Quarter Quell. I nodded and smiled. I don't feel the same way.

Prim takes my hand and we make our way down the steps of the front porch and to the car. Mother isn't coming. She claims she doesn't feel well but I know it's because she doesn't do well with crowds. It doesn't bother me that she isn't coming, though. If I had the choice I wouldn't be going to this either.

Peeta is waiting for us at the car, leaning casually against the door. He's wearing a plain black suit and his hair is brushed and gelled back. He looks very handsome. Again.

When he hears us he looks up and I think I see his mouth fall open. I know he's looking at my dress and I can almost _feel_ Prim's satisfied smirk. I switch my gaze to the snow covered ground and focus on not falling.

"Prim, you look absolutely beautiful," Peeta says as he opens the door for us. Prim thanks him and I look to see her blush prettily as she scoots into the car.

Peeta's eyes are dark as he stares at the cutouts of my dress. At this point it's become quite natural for me to blush when Peeta looks at me so I'm not surprised when I feel my cheeks heat up. He places his hand on my back, helps me into the car and slides in after me.

We wait for Haymitch in silence. He is stumbling down his front steps, not quite used to navigating the snow while drunk.

Peeta lays his arm over my shoulders and places his nose into the hair above my ear.

"I like your dress," he whispers, voice deep, and my shiver has nothing to do with the cold.

* * *

I think the District 12 party may be even more unbearable than those of the other Districts, partly because I know more of the people here. I recognize a few influential members of District 12, like the Undersee family and a variety merchants. I notice almost immediately that Peeta's family isn't here, which surprises me. I would have thought that they would readily come to this event because they have merchant friends. They're merchants themselves. I don't see anyone from the Seam.

Effie hovers around, talking to anyone she can. She's probably disappointed to be back in District 12, considering she just came back from being the center of attention in the Capitol. District 12 must seem quite the downgrade.

Haymitch disappeared when we got here, most likely in search of the bar. That's fine by me, considering he probably woudl have just harassed Peeta and me the whole night anyway.

I spot Madge in the corner by the piano and walk quickly over to her. She's my only female friend; the girl who gave me the mockingjay pin before the Games. She is wearing a pretty pink dress and her blonde hair is piled elegantly on top of her head.

"Hi Madge, you look really nice," I tell her. Madge smiles at me and pulls me into a hug, which is quite uncharacteristic of her. I'm not use to this kind of affection from people other than Prim, and now Peeta, so I'm sure I look uncomfortable.

"Not as nice as you," she says. "How are you?"

She doesn't ask about the Tour because she must be aware of how terrible it is. After all, she attends these parties every year; the District 12 party is always at the Mayor's house. She's met a lot of Victors.

"I'm…tired, I think," I tell her. It's true. I just want to rest. No more interviews or dresses or dances. She nods knowingly and by the look she has in her eyes I can tell that she's a lot wiser than I give her credit for.

"Gale's not here," says Madge, and I look up at her, surprised. Her cheeks redden slightly. My stomach sinks a little. I miss him.

Of course Gale wouldn't come here, even if he were asked to, because he doesn't feel like he belongs. That's part of the reason we get along, I suppose. We both feel like outcasts.

"No, that's not surprising. He wouldn't do well with these types of events," I tell Madge. She looks upset, almost like she'd hoped he would come. Gale always had it out for Madge and I really don't know why. She's an outsider, too. Albeit a different, wealthier, better-off kind of outsider, but she is still treated like a leper by the other children in school. No one would talk to her because her father is the Mayor- the most powerful man in District 12. I like to think I didn't treat her any differently, though.

"Well, I should go talk to Effie," Madge says. "I feel bad for her. No one wants to talk to her at these things," she explains and I'm briefly in awe of the compassion that Madge holds. I wonder what it would be like if I had that. I probably wouldn't have survived the Games, that's for sure. Compassion would have been bad.

When Madge leaves I walk around the house, thinking about Gale. I make a mental note to go and find him tomorrow. I need to talk to him, to tell him about my fears regarding Snow and the Capitol. To share this burden with someone other than Peeta.

I wonder where Peeta is, actually. We got separated somewhere before I found Madge. I see Prim in the corner, talking to some member of merchant society. She flits from one person to the next, charming them completely. I almost laugh because she looks so at home during this Capitol function. _The irony_.

I see Madge work her way to the piano and start to play a fast-paced tune. Out of nowhere Prim grabs my hand and directs me to the dance floor.

"Katniss! Will you dance with me? Please?" Prim asks, shuffling anxiously from one foot to the other. I'm actually not opposed to dancing. I'm not bad at it either. Sometimes Prim and I would go to the Hawthorne's and listen to Rory play his fiddle, a gift that was passed down to him from his father. Much like my bow. The only difference is that my gift is illegal.

Prim and I make our way to the dance floor, spinning around and swaying to the beat. I twirl her this way and that while the photographers snap pictures of us. It's so much easier to deal with the photographers when I'm with Prim and I notice that I'm smiling because I'm having a good time. They've had dancing in the other Districts but it's never felt appropriate to actually do it, to celebrate the deaths of their children. I guess it's different in District 12 this time. We're celebrating survival for once.

The beat changes, slowing down into a beautiful melody. Madge really does play the piano quite well. I will have to remember to tell her that.

Prim and I stop dancing just as I feel a hand on my lower back.

"Do you mind if I steal her, Prim?" Peeta asks my sister, who smiles gloriously in response.

"Of course not! I was going to watch Madge play, anyway," Prim says before she skips away.

I turn around and Peeta pulls me close. I wrap my arms around his neck and look up at him. He's smiling down at me, eyes alight.

"I lost you there for a minute," I tell him as he leads me around the dance floor.

"I'm sorry, I got wrapped into talking to some of my parent's friends," he explains.

"Oh." There's not much I can say to that. I want to ask why his parents aren't here but I don't want to intrude. My mother isn't here because she would feel out of place. She essentially ditched the merchant way of life to live in the Seam with my father. There's no doubt she's been judged for it.

The differences between the Seam and Merchant classes have become quite prominent. Now that Gale and I haven't been able to hunt, there isn't enough meat to sell through the black market, making Seam families even hungrier than they were to begin with. Merchants are only slightly better off but it's still noticeable. Even the extra food our District gets due to our winnings isn't helping. It doesn't make sense.

I look around the room and take everyone in. I never feel at home during these Capitol events but this one in particular is weird. Merchants look at me strangely, like they still can't believe I'm alive, that I was able to survive. They're proud of me, I'm sure, but only because I'm from District 12. I could be completely wrong, though. I'm just so used to being looked down on by wealthier people, to being underestimated. It's a habit I can't quite shake.

"If it makes you feel better, I hate talking to them. I would much rather be here with you," Peeta says with a smile. I want to tell him that I feel the same way, that I want to be with him almost all of the time, but it makes me feel stupid and I don't know how to articulate it. Instead I rest my head on his shoulder and let him lead me around, enjoying the feel of his arms around my waist and the way his chest moves with each breath.

After a few moments Peeta speaks.

"I love you," he says softly.

My body stiffens and I lift my head up to stare at him. He's never actually said that to me so directly, it's almost always been implied. I begin to panic because I don't know how to respond to this. I don't know what to say.

"I don't expect you to feel the same. I just needed to say it," he whispers, looking at me so intensely I can feel his gaze burning holes in my skin.

I just stare up at him, my mind completely blank. Peeta stares back, searching my face for a reaction. _Any_ reaction.

I want to tell him that I don't know what it is I'm feeling but Prim says it's love but I'm not so sure. I want to tell him that all I do is think about him and the way he smiles and kisses and obviously that doesn't make me a 'friend'. And that these feelings scare me silly but the words are caught in my throat.

So, of course I ruin the moment.

"It's getting late," I croak. "I think I should take Prim home now."

For all I know Prim could be completely happy wherever she is and not at all ready to leave. Luckily I spot her in the corner of the room looking exhausted.

Peeta loosens his grip on my waist and backs away. My arms drop heavily from around his neck. His disappointment is obvious and I know I've hurt him.

"I'll walk with you," he says quietly.

* * *

Prim turns out to be more tired than I anticipated and Peeta ends up carrying her all the way back to the Victor's Village. We walk in silence and I steal glances at the two of them. Prim looks tiny sleeping against Peeta's chest. He is being particularly careful not to trip on any black ice and I'm holding onto his arm tightly. He must think it's because I don't want to fall or trip but I know it's because I don't want him to slip away.

I wish I could tell him how I feel. I just don't _know_ how I feel. I don't know how to label it and I don't want to label it incorrectly and hurt him again. Knowing me, if I tried to tell him that, it would come out all wrong. So instead I remain quiet.

The site of him carrying Prim only adds to my confusion. He's so protective, so gentle, and it makes my heart ache.

Peeta turns to look at me and I try to hide the strange expression I'm sure is gracing my face.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing, sorry I…it's nothing," I lie and I know Peeta sees right through it. He just looks at me for a moment and continues walking until we reach my house. Mother is waiting for us and takes Prim from Peeta's arms, thanking him before she goes inside. Prim rubs the sleep from her eyes and walks up the stairs by herself, my mother following closely behind.

I turn back to Peeta, who has shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Thank you," I say quietly. The air suddenly feels heavy and I'm not sure how to continue. Not just with this conversation but with Peeta. We've shared a bed for weeks and we never discussed what would happen once we got back to District 12. I've assumed we would go our separate ways once we finished the Tour but I didn't anticipate growing so attached to him.

I didn't anticipate his proclamation of love and I didn't anticipate the effect it's having on me.

"Any time," he answers, void of emotion. _I hate myself_.

"So…I'll see you tomorrow then?" I ask.

_To do what, Katniss_, I think to myself. _Bake?_

"Yeah, sure. I can bring over some bread tomorrow if you want," he offers.

I nod and force a smile despite the feeling of loss that creeps into my chest.

"Ok," I nearly whisper. "Yeah. That's great."

_This is good. This is what I wanted when this whole thing started. Back to normal. Back to the way it was. _

I repeat the words over and over in my head but they don't stick. It's useless, so useless.

Peeta looks at me a long while and finally pulls me into a crushing hug. I hug him back forcefully and again, he is first to pull away.

"Goodnight, Peeta," I force myself to say.

"Goodnight, Katniss," he answers and I watch him walk back to his dark and empty house.

* * *

I walk heavy-footed up the stairs to my bedroom and close the door quietly behind me. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry. I put my head in my hands and breathe deeply. _In and out. In and out. _

I've ruined everything. I should've just told him how I feel, even if it sounded stupid. I kissed him this morning and then freaked out when he told me he loves me and I hate myself. What is _wrong_ with me? I wasn't honest being honest; not to myself and not to him.

I kick off my shoes and they roll across the floor and hit my dresser. I hear something fall to the ground. I lift my head and see Peeta's sea glass on the floor, the moonlight bouncing off its surface and making it sparkle like Prim's dress. Like the ocean in District 4 and like Peeta's eyes.

I'm breifly brought back to the beach and remember how happy I was just lying there with Peeta. I was so happy and Peeta was happy and our teeth hit together._ I want that._

Suddenly I freeze.

_I want that._ It's so clear to me now, so simple. How did I not see it like this before?

I hastily wipe at my eyes and run out of my bedroom. I fly down the stairs, swing open the front door and run across the street to Peeta's house. On the way I register that I'm not wearing shoes but I can't bring myself to care.

The air is frigid and it bites at the exposed parts of my body. I welcome the cold because it wakes me up; it gives me purpose. _No more hiding. I don't want to hide anymore because I want him_.

The lights are on in his house and I swiftly walk up the steps of the porch.

I knock loudly and it doesn't take long for Peeta to answer the door. He's covered in flour and I know I must have interrupted one of his late-night baking sessions.

"Katniss?" he asks as he takes in my frazzled state. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I don't want to be friends anymore," I nearly shout at him. "Or good friends," I add.

The look of hurt and confusion on Peeta's face is palpable but I continue speaking, not really sure of what's coming out of my mouth, just hoping I'll speak what I feel; what I know to be true.

"I want to be able to kiss you whenever I want. I want to hold your hand and make you laugh and sleep with you at night. I want you to be the first person I see in the morning and the last person I see before I fall asleep. I want you. And good friends don't say that and good friends don't want that."

I smile widely because I'm finally saying it. I'm no longer hiding from myself, or from him. I'm telling him, and myself, exactly how I feel. And I'm no longer scared of it. It's so unlike me to open and obviously happy but with Peeta it's so natural.

I take a deep breath and continue.

"And I don't know what any of that means and it confuses me. And you said you love me and…and…I just want to be with you. Only you."

I'm still standing on Peeta's porch and my feet are so cold I can't feel them anymore. Peeta is in his doorway, not moving, and my smile falters. Did I say something wrong? I thought that if I told him the truth he would be happy. He just looks confused and I start to doubt myself.

I can feel traitor tears start to brim at my eyes again. Is this rejection? Did I overestimate things? No. I won't allow it. I'll keep talking. I'll keep talking until he understands. Until he understands that I've finally stopped hiding and that I want him. Only him.

"I—" I begin to speak but am cut off by Peeta's lips. He kisses me so deeply I can feel it in my frozen toes. I kiss him back with as much passion I can muster. This is what I want. _Him_. And he's so warm. And he smells like _Peeta_. It's perfect and I start to smile, ruining the kiss exactly like I ruined it on the beach, but Peeta keeps kissing me this time. On my cheeks, my nose, the corners of my mouth and finally on my lips again.

Tears are leaking out of my eyes but they're not out of sadness. They're out of relief. They're out of happiness. It's strange and I like it.

"And I just want to be with you. Only you," Peeta breathes against my lips before he tugs me inside.


	11. Chapter 11

We kiss. We _kiss _and we do it for a long time. Somehow we've made our way from the foyer to the couch in his living room, clumsily banging against walls and bumping into furniture. Peeta, in his eagerness, knocked over a lamp but that's not important. The only thing that's important to me now is the way his mouth is moving against mine and the way he's running his hands over me; the way I feel because I want Peeta. Only Peeta.

His hands run up and down my back, periodically resting on the exposed parts of my stomach and he's the only person in the world. No words are spoken, mostly because I think we're both tired of it for now. At least I am. The only sounds are those of our lips connecting, punctuated with heavy, ragged breathes. Every few moments he brings his hand up and runs it down my neck and all I can remember is the way he kissed me there this morning.

It's then when I realize I don't really know what I'm doing. Sure, I know how to kiss Peeta but that's about it. I don't know where I should move my hands, which are currently playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. I don't know how to make him feel the way I do and I want to _so_ badly.

We're both seated on the couch and I have to strain to kiss him properly. He's managed to pull me close but it's not quite working, not quite close enough, so without removing my lips from his I throw my leg around his waist and straddle him.

The movement seems to shock him and he pulls back, staring. His eyes are foggy, unfocused, and his mouth is slack. I can feel his short, quick breaths on my face. I decide not to waste anymore time staring at his lips and, instead, start trailing kisses from the area under his ear down to the curve of his jaw.

I immediately know I'm doing the right thing because Peeta lets a heavy breath and tightens his grip on my waist. I work my way back up his throat and can feel his pulse thrumming away. I kiss the spot. I kiss it again, pushing my tongue against the skin, and I can feel his heartbeat grow frantic.

Peeta removes his hands from my waist and starts to run them lazily up and down my legs, all the way up to my thighs where my dress has risen up quite a bit. I know I should be more concerned with the rate at which we're moving but my mind is too foggy to fully register what's happening.

I continue kissing his neck and throat and eventually feel Peeta's lips on my shoulder. My hands have left his hair and are currently gripping his shirt, which I realize is still the dress shirt he wore to the party at Mayor Undersee's house.

He kisses his way from my shoulder back to my face, pressing his lips against every inch of exposed skin he can find.

I miss his lips…

And I think that he misses mine because when they connect again it's with such ferocity that I grow lightheaded. I'm pulling at his shirt, trying to unbutton it so I can feel the skin of his chest. He grips my legs and pulls me down, flush against him, and I feel the bulge in his pants that's grown more and more prominent. Not only that but, considering the way I'm sitting over him and the way my dress has risen up, I feel him against me. _There_. The sensation is so foreign and surprising that I jump away before I can register how amazing it felt and the way it made my eyes roll back in my head.

The daze clears from Peeta's eyes and suddenly he is apologizing profusely.

"I'm sorry! I'm shouldn't have—it's too fast. I'm sorry!" His voice, which had started out thick and throaty, has become slightly frantic. He raises his arms in my direction but decides against it and lets them flop back down at his sides, like he thinks I'll run away. Did he forget my outburst on the porch? I'm the one who ran to him.

"No, it's okay," I assure him while trying to catch my breath and simultaneously shake myself from the fog that surrounds my head. "It's just…very new."

I realize how corny and stupid the words are as they leave my mouth but it's true. The physical _and_ emotional aspects of my relationship with Peeta are brand new. I take his hand to let him know that what we were doing was okay. That he didn't make any mistakes. He stares at our fingers and looks up, beginning to speak, but suddenly jumps off the couch, cursing his way out of the room.

Confused, I turn around to see what caused the outburst and watch as smoke billows from the kitchen.

"The bread! I left it in too long!" Peeta calls from the kitchen.

I run over to where he is, trying to straighten my dress as I go, and see him pull two completely charred loaves of bread from the oven. I walk quickly around the kitchen and open the windows, hoping to give the dark smoke somewhere to go.

As I'm opening the final window I hear Peeta speak.

"That's the second time I've ever burnt bread," he says with a small laugh. "I guess you're the only person I'll burn it for."

I stop what I'm doing immediately and look at him. He's watching me with a small smile. The first time he burnt bread both saved my life and cost him a beating. The words I told him earlier on the porch solidify like cement in my brain.

_"I just want to be with you. Only you."_

But the way he said it, the way he told me he'd only burn bread for me, is something of a promise.

My mind flits quickly to the District 12 marriage ritual. The toasting. When two people make a fire and, together, toast pieces of bread. I push the thought out of my head. I can't think about it. I don't want marriage. Marriage means children and I can't do that. I can't bring a child into this world. I have the fleeting feeling that I should tell Peeta this but ignore it.

I think back to what Peeta and I were doing on the couch. I wonder what would have happened if we didn't stop. If I had hadn't pulled away.

Sex means children too.

Even if Octavia gave me that shot, for me sex will always lead to pregnancy, which will always lead to children. I can't eliminate that fear. That dread. It will always be there.

Peeta sees that I've grown quiet and comes to me, kissing me lightly on the lips. I know he would never pressure me into anything. It's part of the reason I'm here right now. Why I trusted him in the first place, among other things.

For now I'll abandon thoughts of marriage and children. For now I'll just let myself be with Peeta.

I look over at the clock against the wall and see that it's almost 1 a.m.

"It's really late," I observe and Peeta laughs.

"I guess we were kind of distracted," he muses and, as if on cue, I blush.

"Are you going to stay over?" he asks me hopefully. For anyone else, there would be an ulterior motive behind the request. But for us sleeping together is completely innocent. A protection from the nightmares we can't face alone.

I fiddle with the hem of my dress. I'd obviously hoped to stay over. That's part of the reason I ran over here. But then I realize I don't have a change of clothes and I really need to shower. I don't even have shoes.

"I need to change. And shower," I tell him, but the way he's running his hands down my neck makes me start to think it's not that important.

"I wouldn't mind if you stayed in that dress," he says with a smirk and I roll my eyes.

"Of course you wouldn't," I respond drily.

"You can borrow some of my stuff. They'll be big but I don't think it matters. You can shower here, too. I have an extra bathroom upstairs," he says as he snakes his arms around my waist and I just want to kiss him again.

"Okay, thanks," I tell him softly. The smoke is clearing out of the room and I turn my attention to the burnt loaves sitting on the counter. "I see you wasted no time in getting some baking done while we were apart," I tell him with a grin. I expect him to laugh it off but he frowns instead.

"I was worried you were drifting away again. That it would be different when we got back to 12. You were acting different," he says faintly, jaw set and staring at a place above my head.

"It is different," I tell him. The words feel strange leaving my mouth but I don't regret them. I need to make him understand that this wasn't a decision I made on a whim. That kissing him on the couch was more than just hormones, it was an action I chose because I choose him. I bring my lips to his and kiss him softly. When I pull away I look him straight in the eyes.

"I am different now."

* * *

After my shower I pull on Peeta's clothes, a black t-shirt and blue boxer shorts that are too big. It was awkward at first, Peeta handing me his underwear to sleep in, but now I couldn't care less because they smell so strongly of him that I find I've been standing in his bathroom sniffing his t-shirt for a full two minutes. Embarrassed by myself, I rush out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. He's already showered and sitting on his bed, staring into space. When he sees me his whole face lights up.

"I can't decide what looks better on you. My clothes or that dress," he says.

"Cinna would be insulted by that statement but these are much more comfortable," I tell him with a smile. I lift my hair away from my neck to start braiding it and Peeta's eyes go wide.

"What?" I ask him.

"Your neck," he says, surprised. I stop braiding and hurry into his bathroom to look in the mirror. Sure enough, the purple marks are even worse than before. I can just imagine Octavia and Venia giggling between themselves. I scowl, realizing that they will be extremely hard to cover up now that my prep team is gone. I'm still frowning when I leave the bathroom.

"Yeah, well those are your fault," I tell Peeta, a tinge of annoyance to my voice. The irony is that I thoroughly enjoyed the process.

Peeta is not phased and just smiles stupidly at me. He actually looks quite smug. I decide to ignore him and instead walk around his bed and crawl under the covers, glowering. At least it's cold. I'll be able to wear a scarf tomorrow without seeming suspicious.

Peeta rolls over to me and places his hand on my neck.

"I'm sorry," he says truthfully. "Does it hurt?"

"No," I respond. I probably wouldn't have even known they were there if it weren't for my prep team's interrogation.

"Did it hurt when it happened?" I turn to face him and see that he's grinning at me.

"No," I breathe because he's moved closer and I'm reminded that no, it absolutely did not hurt when it happened.

"Are you ashamed of it?" he asks, nuzzling my neck. If he keeps this up we'll probably end up in the same position we were on the couch not too long ago.

"No." I'm surprised by how quickly I can answer that particular question. "Not ashamed. I'm just...embarrassed that they're so prominent. I don't want Prim or Mother or Gale to see them." I feel guilty, all of a sudden, when it comes to Gale. I can't pinpoint it, though.

Peeta pulls back slightly, contemplating my answer.

"Okay," he says softly, understanding crossing over his features. He brushes the hair away from my face.

"But, you know, I think we might match tomorrow. You were doing some pretty awesome things to _my_ neck earlier. What if I'm embarrassed, too?" he asks with a grin and I can feel my face flush. "How inconsiderate of you to put me through the same torture," he pouts, trailing his thumb over my bottom lip. I'm both surprised he has the nerve to bring that up and pleased that he liked it so much. The expression on my face must be quite comical.

"Take your leg off," I tell him, changing the subject.

Peeta meets my eyes and lets out a soft breathe.

"Okay."

I watch him as he rolls over and detaches the prosthetic limb, obviously still not quite used to having an audience. He's wearing pants again and I try to push away my disappointment that he decided to wear a shirt. When he rolls back over to me I don't hesitate to find my favorite spot on his chest, my head directly over his heart.

His chest rises and falls with each breathe, his hands playing with my hair, and the feelings I had for him yesterday, the ones that drove me here in the first place, come flooding back with force. I realize this is absolutely where I'm supposed to be. I can't imagine anywhere or anyone else.

I bring my hand down and place it on his bad leg. I want him to know that I want him here exactly like this. This is the boy who I want, the one with the scars and bad memories. The ones with the scars and bad memories who has been able to remain exactly the same person.

I'm surprised when he places his hand on top of mine so I look up and see him staring down at me, his eyebrows drawn up slightly.

"I can't believe this is real," he says quietly, as if it were actually a dream. I realize that, for him, it might have been at one point. But it's definitely real now, even if it took me months to see just how real it has become.

My answer to him is simple.

"It is."

* * *

As I'm walking to the Seam, I note that it's early on Monday morning and the Quarter Quell will be announced on Wednesday, probably in the evening. I have basically three full days for my mind to stew, conjuring up every terrible situation Snow could create. As if the Hunger Games aren't bad enough, every 25 years the Capitol creates a "Quarter Quell" which is essentially a 'special' edition of the otherwise annual Hunger Games. For the first Quell, citizens of each district had to vote on who they wanted to enter the arena, basically leaving the districts responsible for killing their own children. The Second Quarter Quell forced twice the number of children into the arena. I know this year will be one thousand times worse than the Quells that preceded it. I have no real proof, of course, but the way Snow's face folds into that sickening grin of his every time he mentions it makes the blood drain from my face and I just _know_.

I replay our conversation over and over, trying to find any loopholes in his affirmation that everyone I love will remain safe but can't find anything he said that sticks out at me as particularly dangerous.

The morning air is frigid and it bites at the exposed parts of my face. I pull my jacket closer to my body. I'm actually almost thankful that I had to go back to my house to change and get a scarf to cover up my neck; without it I would be a lot colder. Luckily, Prim and Mother didn't see me creep into the house during the early hours before dawn. I'm going to have to find a way to tell them of my current sleeping arrangement or otherwise be prepared to sneak around for a long time.

Peeta was surprised when I woke him up; I didn't want to leave without telling him. I explained that it was the only time I was guaranteed to catch Gale before he went to work and the miners work such long hours I wasn't sure if I would be able to catch him in the evening. He didn't seem that surprised when I told him I needed to talk to Gale; Peeta probably expected I would need to see him at some point. After all, Peeta saw how distressed I was when Gale was threatened.

He promised to drop by with some bread later in the morning and I sealed that promise with a soft, slow kiss, enjoying the look on Peeta's face when I pulled away.

I continue walking through Town and into the Seam. After about 20 minutes I reach the Hawthorne's door just as Gale is leaving the house.

"Gale," I greet him. He turns at the sound of my voice, surprised to find me roaming the Seam at 6 a.m.

"Hey Catnip," he says softly. He looks thinner than the last time I saw him, his face sunken in. His jacket a little too big. It's clear he hasn't been able to hunt. We're standing rather far apart and he's carrying his mining gear in one arm. Gale obviously doesn't know what to say because he turns his attention to his boots while shifting uncomfortably in front of his door.

"I missed you," I blurt out. I didn't realize how much I missed him until now, actually. I miss my friend. I miss the relationship we had before I was sent into the arena. Before everything changed.

Gale moves his mining gear on his shoulder.

"I missed you, too," he says softly. "Walk with me, I'll be late otherwise."

I follow him through the Seam. The awkwardness of our reunion only slightly dissipating as Gale tells me about what I missed during the few months I was gone. He sticks to safe ground and only talks about the Hob and the mines, never once mentioning Peeta or the Tour.

"How's your family?" I ask him, hoping he'll give me reason to offer him food or money. He's so very thin now and I know his family must look the same.

"Fine. It's been…different…without being able to hunt," he explains delicately.

I nod, knowing he doesn't want me bring it up but I can't help it.

"Gale, let me help you. I have more money than I know what to do with," I say quietly, our feet crunching in the snow.

"No, we'll be fine," he says firmly, watching our feet as they move. It's so like him to do this but luckily Gale and I are exactly the same so I know how to break him.

"What if it were my family, Gale? You would do the same, wouldn't you? You would offer to help me."

Gale grunts something unintelligible in response and I breath deeply out of my nose.

"What would you do if you were me in this situation?" I ask. I think I may have gotten him because he turns to look at me finally, a hint of defeat in his eyes.

"Katniss." The sound of him speaking my real name surprises me, like it always does. "Thank you, okay? I'll think it over." Gale speeds up, not looking back. The discussion is over.

"So you haven't gone into the woods at all?" I ask, walking quickly to keep up with him. He's obviously in one piece so clearly he hasn't been caught doing any illicit activities. I look up at Gale and see him grin devilishly down at me.

"I didn't hunt. That's what you said," he tells me quietly, so no one can hear us.

"What else would you be doing?"

"Fulfilling my promise to you," he answers simply.

_Of course_.

I had completely forgotten that I had asked him to get the materials for my bow and arrows. My smile is one of excitement because he's clearly succeeded. Why else would he be grinning like that? But then I realize my stupidity and selfishness. To ask that of Gale was completely insane, spurred on by my fear of Snow. I put almost everyone I know in danger by asking that of him. When I tell Gale this he just rolls eyes and continues walking.

"Please. I didn't do it just for you. I need to protect myself and my family, remember? That's what you said. And it was a good idea." Nothing I can do will reverse his actions so I decide to accept this change in events rather than argue with him and berate myself. Besides, their just branches and other natural materials. It could be worse.

"So what did you do with the materials? Where did you put them?"

"Under your bed," he says with a straight face.

"What?" I shout. Does he realize how dangerous that is? How strange that would look, hauling tree branches and pieces of wood and sinew through town and into the Victor's Village? Not to mention what could have been picked up by the recording devices. Gale shushes me and straightens his mining gear on his shoulder.

"You need to have a little more faith in me, Catnip. It's fine, believe me."

We're getting closer to the entrance of the mines and Gale and I will have to separate soon.

"Gale," I start and he looks at me. I'm not sure what to say anymore. We're in a public place and I don't want to draw any unwanted attention to ourselves. "Thank you. For keeping your promise. For everything." He nods his head stiffly in response.

"Can you come to my house in the Victor's Village when you get a chance? They're announcing the Quarter Quell on Wednesday," I tell him.

"I'll be there," he answers. Our friendship has become awkward. Ever since I returned home from the Games it's been strained. It's sad, how quickly people can change. It's sad because I know I'm partly responsible.

I watch him as he walks away, through the crowd of miners, tapping three fingers of his right hand to his right leg. _Wait._

"Gale!" I shout. He looks over his shoulder and follows my gaze, watching me stare at his tapping fingers. A look of recognition passes over his face and he shakes his head almost imperceptivity, eyes widening only slightly.

"I can come over tonight," he calls. All I can do is nod as Gale disappears down the entrance to the mines while I'm left alone with a million questions.

* * *

I hurry back to the Victor's Village, my mind spinning from both Gale's strange 'signaling' as well as the pile of branches that are apparently under my bed. By the time I arrive back to the house Prim is coming down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Hey, where were you?" she questions but I brush past her up the stairs.

"I was talking to Gale in the Seam before he went to the mines," I explain quickly, vaguely pleased that I can answer her without bringing up my sleepover with Peeta. I don't hear her answer because I shut the door to my room, fall to my knees and peer under my bed.

I don't see anything. No branches, no arrowheads, no bones or string sinew. Nothing that could be used to construct anything.

I lift my head out from under the bed and think.

"_Under your bed"_ he said.

Something's wrong. Gale wouldn't lie.

I look back under the bed again, intent on finding something. This time, however, I look up at the underside of the bed and gasp at what I see.

Gale has tied my father's bow and my original quiver of arrows to the bottom of the bed with old twine. I scuttle out from underneath the bed, afraid that my staring could somehow cause them to suddenly be known.

How did he do this? How did he manage? How did he carry these through town without being noticed? The questions keep coming and I have zero answers. The thought of him carrying branches through town worried me. This is exponentially worse.

I try to collect myself on the floor of my room. I won't touch my bow and arrows. Not unless it's absolutely necessary. I'll have to wait until Gale comes by later to ask him the multitude of questions that are flowing through my head. Now, though, I can't be in here.

I get up off the floor and turn to go downstairs when a blue glint catches my eye. I pick the sea glass up off the floor from where it fell last night.

This little object is too precious to be left out in the open. I briefly consider taping it to the underside of my bed when I realize it's not dangerous and that would be ridiculous. I search my room, looking for someplace to put it but come up empty handed. I go across the hall, into Prim's room, and find a small, empty box. She probably used it stow hair ribbons but there are so many little boxes on her dresser that I know this one won't be missed. The sea glass fits perfectly and I walk across the hall again and put the box in one of my drawers where I know I won't lose it.

When I make my way downstairs, mother and Prim are seated at the kitchen table and I'm not surprised to find Peeta there as well. He's placed a large plate of cheese buns on the table. I mean to smile at him but it comes out as more of a grimace, the thought of the weapon tied to the underside of my bed too distracting to push away. Peeta notices my change in demeanor and his eyebrows come together in a combination of question and worry.

"Peeta brought breakfast, Katniss," Prim explains, mouth full of cheese bun. I nod at her and glance at Peeta again. My stomach flips when I see his neck, which is currently sporting a dark purple blotch under the left side of his jaw. The shadows his jaw creates on his neck hide it fairly well. He's lucky it's not very noticeable. I'm not as fortunate. I'm still wearing the scarf from earlier and it's hot and itchy in the warmth of the house.

"Katniss always said she wanted to try cheese buns so I decided to make them," he tells Prim, who is putting a cheese bun on my plate.

I take the seat next to Peeta and find his hand under the table and with the other I stuff the cheese bun into my mouth. I'm sure it's delicious but I've lost my appetite. Peeta holds my hand lightly, running his thumb over the inside of my wrist. It helps me relax somewhat, but not completely. I take another cheese bun from the middle of the table. I'm not hungry but I figure that I might as well occupy myself with something to keep me distracted. I stare pointedly at my plate and focusing on eating. I'm sure Prim thinks my strange behavior is due to my 'unaccepted feelings' towards Peeta. That's fine by me. I would much rather have her think that than know the truth.

Peeta makes small talk with Prim and Mother before they leave for the day, Prim off to school and Mother to our old house in the Seam. When they leave Peeta turns to me.

"What's wrong?" he asks immediately.

Without speaking I lead him upstairs and into my bedroom. Once inside, I point to the bed, motioning for him to look underneath. He kneels dutifully, struggling slightly due to his bad leg. He must see the offending weapon immediately because he pulls back so quickly he knocks his head on the bed.

Peeta looks up at me in shock and I nod at him gravely, making my way into the bathroom and turning on the faucets in the sink and the shower. I sit down, my back resting against the wall. Peeta joins me on the floor and I take his hand, gently playing with his fingers.

"Before I left for the Victory Tour I told Gale that I wanted him to go and collect materials for me to use to make my own bow and arrow set," I begin, briefly looking up at Peeta who regards me silently.

"I was very scared. Snow had just come to visit me and I thought the idea of being able to protect myself and my family if anything had happened was a good idea. I told this to Gale and then completely forgot about it."

Nights spent with Peeta and the stresses of the Victory Tour seemed to distract me to the point that I had totally forgotten I had ever asked Gale to do that. Peeta remains silent, waiting for me to finish my story.

"When I saw him this morning, he told me to look under my bed," I stop playing with his fingers and look up at him. "He brought my bow and arrows from the woods. I don't know how he did it, and obviously Snow doesn't know about it or Gale would be dead, right?" I ask.

"I would think so," Peeta replies. He's pulled his hand away from mine and started to run it through his hair, a habit I've noticed he does when he's thinking something over.

"And, Peeta, have you noticed anything strange in the way people are acting?" I ask him, thinking about the way Gale tapped his fingers against his leg. The same gesture I saw in District 11 and the same gesture I saw from Finnick Odair.

Peeta removes his hands from his hair and looks at me.

"What do you mean?"

"In District 11 I first noticed it. There were people tapping their legs with three fingers. Like this," I tell him as I demonstrate the motion. Peeta shakes his head so I continue speaking. "At first I didn't think anything of it. It could be a nervous habit or something. But then in Snow's mansion I saw Finnick do the same thing. And this morning Gale did it."

"I've never seen anything like that. I guess I wasn't paying much attention. What do you think it means?" Peeta asks.

"I'm not sure but I don't have a good feeling about it. Gale said he would come over later. Probably to explain."

Peeta nods, taking my hand again. He's quiet for a while, staring at our fingers in his lap.

"I have to tell you something," he says softly. "I completely forgot about it until just now. Do you remember when Haymitch came out of my room before we went to Snow's mansion for the Capitol party?"

I nod, Haymitch looked slightly angry, Peeta looked distracted. I hadn't really thought much of it at the time and I, like Peeta, had forgotten about the exchange.

"It was after our interview with Caesar. I told that story about how I planned to go talk to you after the Reaping but didn't have the chance. Remember?"

I nod. I thought he might have been lying, crafting another brilliant story for the citizens of the Capitol. But the moment our eyes met I knew it was the truth. The longing, the sadness that he couldn't do what he had planned, was etched on his face. I'm not likely to forget that story.

"Well," Peeta continues, "Haymitch said that I may have angered Snow. That I overdid it, making the Capitol seem like the bad guy. Giving people another reason to hate The Hunger Games."

I had never thought of that. To me, that story was another piece of mine and Peeta's ill-fated relationship, not something to incite anger or hatred.

"That plus my speech in District 11…it can't be good, can it? I might have pissed Snow off," Peeta adds, a hint of worry to his voice.

There are so many things I've taken for granted. I was so focused on myself not angering Snow that I never thought Peeta might do it.

"Do you think the finger tapping or whatever it is has something to do with the rebellion?" he asks.

"Maybe," I whisper, fear trickling down my spine. Peeta's confirmed in words what I've already accepted. I didn't want this. I didn't want to spark this rebellion. I tried. I really, truly, tried to calm it. I hope Snow knows that. "I guess we'll have to wait for Gale to know for sure."

* * *

The rest of the day is spent in anxious silence. Peeta bakes at his house, explaining that he might as well get started on it considering he hasn't be able to provide the Seam with any bread in the last two months. I sit on the counter and watch him, not wanting to be alone. We don't kiss and we don't talk much, both of us lost in our thoughts.

Around dinnertime we walk over to my house. Peeta insisted that he didn't need to come over, not wanting to be an imposition, but I told him that I want him to be there, briefly running my fingers over the purple mark under his jaw, hoping to remind him that it's different now. We're different now.

Peeta is better at casual conversation than I am and is able to entertain Prim with stories from the Capitol while I clutch his hand under the table, thinking about rebellions and the Quarter Quell.

I don't want to watch the recap of the Victory Tour but Prim insists. I sit between her and Peeta and watch as the screen fills with images of the star-crossed lovers smiling and waving to different crowds. I don't process the words that the news anchor is saying. I'm only able to watch the way I look at Peeta after I kiss him on the train platform, or the way I lean into his touch. I guess my change in behavior _is_ pretty obvious.

I flush beet red when they show Peeta and I kissing in Snow's mansion, uncomfortable that Prim and Mother can see the way our bodies are pressed together so tightly it's unclear where his ends and mine begins. I watch as they show Peeta's arm run down my back and I can't help the goosebumps that appear on my arms and legs at the memory.

Prim giggles when they show Effie rubbing the red lipstick from Peeta's face and when I look to gauge Peeta's reaction I see the corners of his mouth twitch up in a half smile. When I look away I see that Prim has been watching us, not the television, and my blush grows impossibly darker. I'm too afraid to look at Mother.

"It would seem that the 74th Victory Tour has been deemed a success," the news anchor concludes, the screen filling with a picture of Peeta and me smiling in front of District 12. "We would like to inform our viewers that Wednesday evening, President Snow will issue a public statement regarding this year's Quarter Quell. Be sure to tune in for what is likely to be quite an exciting announcement."

Just as the woman on screen disappears, I hear a loud knock on the door and I jump up to open it, Peeta's arm falling from around my shoulders.

Gale is still in his mining gear, his helmet and other equipment abandoned on the porch next to his feet.

"Catnip," he greets me with a half smile.

"Come in," I tell him quietly.

Gale looks to see Peeta on the couch with Prim and his expression changes somewhat before he masks whatever emotion just betrayed him. Mother has left, probably to retreat into her room for the night. She never does stay up late.

"Hey Prim," Gale says. Prim smiles beatifically at him and greets him in return. I'd much rather just get down to what's been bothering me all day.

"Prim, I need to talk to Gale and Peeta alone…about…the Tour…" I trail off, hoping she will get the hint that she can't be here. Prim pauses before she nods and goes slowly up the stairs, Buttercup following at her heels. I watch as she disappears around the corner and turn back to Gale once she's gone.

To my surprise, Gale takes after Prim up the stairs but heads into my room. I exchange a look with Peeta before we follow him.

I walk into my bedroom to see that Gale has already entered my bathroom and is turning on all the faucets. I look back at Peeta and see his look of amazement before we join Gale, who is seated on the edge of the bathtub.

"What do you know?" Gale asks us automatically, directing the question at Peeta more than at me. His demeanor is cool with the tiniest hint of anger to his voice. I have the urge to snap at him but see that he's glancing quickly between Peeta and me. We're seating directly next to each other on the tile floor, arms brushing together, my hand casually resting on top of his.

Guilty, I move my hand and put them both in my lap. I get the sinking feeling in my stomach that I've betrayed Gale. I promised to him before we left for the Tour that there was nothing going on between Peeta and I. That it was all an act. While that might have been true then, it isn't anymore. My eyes travel to the corner of the room and I spot Peeta's t-shirt and boxers in the corner, the ones I wore to sleep last night. Gale follows my gaze and I see his expression drop tenfold. If our relationship wasn't obvious before it is now. But I miss Gale. I miss being his friend. Can't I just have him as a friend? He's making it hard. I'm making it hard, I guess.

And instead of explaining things like I know I should, I answer Gale's question.

"We don't know anything. All we have are questions. Like, how did you know to come in here and turn on all the faucets?" I ask him.

"It's a long story," Gale explains as he stairs at the wall behind me.

"We have time," I answer, partly annoyed that he's beating around the bush.

"When you told me that Snow came to visit, I tried to find out as much as I could about the rebellions in the other Districts. Obviously I couldn't go asking regular District 12 citizens. I couldn't go through the Hob or Town because I'm sure they're monitored. So I went to Madge Undersee."

I feel my mouth drop open in surprise. That's extremely ballsy of Gale to do considering Madge is the daughter of the Mayor. On top of that, I thought Gale hated Madge.

"Anyway, I wasn't sure what I was going to say to her or exactly how I was going to say it. To be honest I kind of just planned on…coaxing it out of her. Information she may have heard or rumors that spread around her house. Her father is in direct contact with the Capitol, after all," he explains.

My disgust is obvious. I've heard rumors in school that Gale got along…well…with girls but I never thought he would sink so low as to manipulate them for information. Especially Madge. Gale looks over at me, expressionless, and I feel Peeta shift uncomfortably next to me.

"Turns out she's smarter than people give her credit for," Gale says quietly, looking at his hands. "Madge new what I was after and she was more than willing to help me. I didn't end up having to persuade her in any way. She told me about the rebellions in 11 and 8. The signal," Gale adds, gesturing with his fingers, "is a sign of the rebellion. People who tap three fingers of their right hand to their right leg are in on it."

I'm too shocked to speak and Peeta grabs my hand. I look over at him and see that he's watching me. Neither of us know what to say but Peeta speaks first.

"What does that mean? Is there a rebellion actually brewing or are people just angry?"

"At this point it's too soon to tell. Madge is giving me updates whenever she gets them and I've been discretely passing along the signal to people I know I can trust," Gale answers.

While I new deep down the signal was a sign of the rebellion, actually hearing the words is so much to handle that I find it difficult to wrap my head around. For the time being I switch the subject.

"How did you get my bow and arrows?" I ask Gale.

"With Madge's help. The Mayor knows when the District 12 fence is electrified, where cameras are placed, who is watching which parts of Town and the Seam. Madge tells me everything."

"How does Madge get this information? Wouldn't it be hard to come by? I can't exactly see Mayor Undersee telling her this stuff?" I tell Gale, disbelievingly.

"Like I said, Madge is a lot smarter than people think. She has her ways of getting information."

"Is that how you knew to come into the bathroom to talk without being heard?" Peeta asks.

Gale nods.

"Madge told me that the Victor's houses are bugged. Only with recording devices. No video cameras. They stopped putting video cameras in the Victor's Village homes once Haymitch found them and kept bashing them in," Gale says and I smirk. I would expect nothing less of Haymitch. "Although there _are_ video cameras outside of the Victor's Village houses. You have to know where to go to be out of line of them. That's how I got your bow and arrows in here," Gale says with a small smile, proud of himself. "And in the bathroom, when the faucets are running, it's almost impossible to hear what happens or what's said. How did you know about that?"

"Lucky guess," says Peeta, not elaborating on our time on the train.

"Does Madge know about anything about the Quell?" Peeta asks and I find I'm scared for Gale's answer.

Gale shakes his head.

"She doesn't," Gale answers and he finally looks me in the eyes. "I've asked."

"How many people know? About the rebellion, I mean," I ask Gale.

"Not many. Fifty, maybe? Slowly growing. We're extremely careful about it."

"How did District 11 know to use the hand motion, then? How are the Districts connected in this?" I ask him, curious and nervous at the same time.

"That's what we're trying to figure out," he responds.

* * *

I am distracted all of Tuesday.

Last night I asked Gale to come back for the Quarter Quell announcement. He agreed and after he left, Peeta went home and I went to check on Prim, who had fallen asleep during our time spent in the bathroom. Mother's door was closed.

Peeta and I went to bed silently, not sure what to say to one another, still processing the bombshell Gale sent our way not hours ago. Somehow, though, it's easier to handle in Peeta's dark room, curled up next to him.

Tuesday morning I walk with Peeta to the Seam, both of us carrying giant bags full of bread. I watch in silence as Peeta makes his exchange with Sae, in awe of how easily he can appeal to her. I actually think I see her smile at him as he walks away. On the way back home I pay close attention to the people we pass, hoping to catch a glimpse of the secret hand motion that is a sign of the rebellion. I don't see anything.

That night, as I'm walking over to Peeta's house after saying goodnight to Prim, I'm surprised to find him sitting on the floor of his porch, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket.

"Hey," I say softly. "What are you doing out here?"

"Watching the stars. It's clear tonight," Peeta says quietly. I've been very distant all day and Peeta's obviously noticed. I barely touched him at all, barely spoken a word to anyone. I feel bad, knowing that Peeta must have the same nervous feelings yet he's been productive, dropping off food and trying to speak words of comfort to me.

Again, I've been the selfish one.

"Mind if I join you?" I ask him.

"I think I would mind if you didn't," Peeta says with a small smile.

He opens his arms and makes room for me between his legs and I sit down on the porch between them. Peeta wraps both his arms and the blanket around me, a cocoon of warmth, and I lean back against his chest. We sit in silence for a while and I stare at the stars, bright against the black sky. I remember looking up at them during our time in the Capitol but they weren't this bright, somehow they seemed dimmer and less extraordinary in comparison to all the lights and buildings.

"I used to do this when I was little," he says softly into my ear. "When my mom would get too angry or when I wanted to escape for a while."

Peeta says the words sadly and I find his hands, interlacing our fingers together. The fact that Peeta's experienced his fair share of demons in his youth sometimes slips my mind. It's embarrassing how ignorant I can be.

But I know how he feels now, in this moment. His mother isn't looming over him this time, the Capitol is. It doesn't end. The Games, then the Tour, then the whole issue of the rebellion and tomorrow the Quarter Quell will be announced.

"Not that I'm not happy now. I'm so happy" Peeta continues, placing a light kiss above my ear. "I just wish it were different."

"Me too," I whisper softly. I've always wished it were different. There's not much else I can say so we sit for a while watching the stars. For a moment, I allow myself to think about what it would have been like. If Peeta and I weren't reaped and there were no Hunger Games. No Capitol. No rebellion. No secrets.

I sink deeper into his arms and imagine that I would like it. I would like watching the stars with Peeta on cold nights. I would like kissing him and holding his hand. I could get used to it. But I wouldn't start it. I would be extremely difficult and I would have shut him out, just like I do for everyone. I remember his confession to Caesar, the way he described how he was going to come find me after the Reaping.

"Peeta?" I ask softly, my voice surprisingly timid.

"Mmhmm," he hums and his chest rumbles with the sound. _And he's warm._

"Tell me about the flowers," I say. "The ones you got on Reaping Day that you were going to give me."

I've thought about them, the flowers. They've been in the back of my mind for a while. Peeta stiffens slightly and I almost regret asking, but he pulls me closer to him, locking his arms around me even more tightly than before.

"They were yellow. They cost a lot of money, which I obviously didn't have, and I put them under my bed in a small glass filled with water, hoping that Rye or Barley wouldn't find them and make fun of me."

I twist my neck up to look at him, forgetting about the stars completely and instead choosing to watch him as he tells the story.

"I thought you would like yellow flowers," he says, mostly to himself.

My throat closes up and I wonder if he knows about the yellow dandelion I saw the day after Peeta threw me the bread. I do like yellow flowers, actually. It took me a long time to realize it and he has no idea.

I rest my head on his shoulder and stare into his blue, blue eyes and wait for him to finish the story, even though I know how it ends.

"Something tells me you wouldn't really have appreciated them, though," he says with a smile and I laugh loudly, the sound echoing in the night.

"No, I would've hated you and those flowers," I say softly. "But Prim would have loved you and those flowers and she would have made me talk to you or thank you or… something. She would have made you goat cheese and you would have probably brought her cookies and you two would have developed quite the friendship."

I bring my hand up and rest it on his jaw before I continue to tell him what I've already thought about while I lay in his arms at night. When I feel myself laughing with him. When he makes the world disappear.

"But I'm starting to think that you would have crawled your way into my life anyway, and I would have started to not hate you as much. You would work your charm and I think eventually…eventually I would have started to love those flowers," I tell him quietly, choosing my words carefully.

Peeta brushes his fingers over my cheek and they rest on my neck, where the purple bruises have begun to fade. He smiles a real smile, one that fills his whole face and I can't look away.

"It would have happened either way," he tells me. It's not so much a question as it is an affirmation. The way he says it, and the way my heart fills to the brim when he does, only solidifies what I know to be true.

"Either way," I murmur in response.

His mouth meets mine and when I close my eyes-the Games, the Victory Tour, the rebellion, the Quarter Quell-they disappear, and I see stars again.

* * *

"We should talk to Haymitch about this," Peeta tells me quietly as he pulls another loaf of bread out of the oven. He doesn't specify exactly what 'this' is but he doesn't have to. It's Wednesday morning and Peeta and I have been silently counting down the minutes until the Quarter Quell is announced while trying to simultaneously stomach the idea of a rebellion that is brewing beneath our noses. I realize that we haven't included Haymitch in on the news we received from Gale Monday, which was not a good idea on our part.

"I guess you're right," I tell him. I'm not particularly fond of Haymitch, especially since he started mocking mine and Peeta's relationship, but he needs to know what's going on. Plus he might have more information to bring to the table.

"Although he's probably passed out on his couch. You might need to throw a bucket of water on him," I add a bit sourly.

Peeta's smile doesn't reach his eyes. There haven't been many true smiles from him or me during the past two days. The stress of the Quell and the rebellion are sometimes too much to handle. It's another strain that's been put on our very new, very budding relationship. Brief, stolen kisses and warm caresses are all we have the energy for, the looming threat of whatever rebellion might be growing makes our relationship seem trivial.

But it's not. It's the only thing keeping me sane; he's the only thing tethering me to the ground, keeping me from blowing away. I let him know this, not with words, but with my actions, hoping he will understand.

I take his hand openly in public. I even kissed him in front of Prim during breakfast this morning. On the cheek, but that's still something, right? I don't do these things, and he knows that. I think he loves when I do those things, even though it stresses me to. It's during these moments when he seems the happiest, the most like himself, and I find I'd be willing to kiss him again and again, in front of anyone, to make him smile the way he did when we were on the beach. Or the way he smiled at me last night on the porch.

Peeta pulls the final loaf of bread out of the oven and we walk together to Haymitch's house. I've only been in there once, before the Victory Tour, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. The lingering smell of old liquor and vomit was too strong to tolerate for long.

Sure enough, Haymitch is passed out on his couch, an empty bottle hanging out of hand precariously, ready to hit the floor at a moments notice.

Peeta walks over to him and pokes him with the end of his shoe.

"Haymitch," he says loudly. "Haymitch. We need to talk to you."

Haymitch grumbles something in response and rolls over.

"Haymitch, wake up," Peeta shouts. I walk into the kitchen, if you can even call it that in this house, and find an old pot, fill it up with ice cold water and bring it into the living room where Peeta continues to shake a completely unresponsive Haymitch.

"Use this," I tell Peeta with a smirk. Peeta looks at me, takes the pot and throws it over Haymitch's head.

Haymitch shoots off the couch, issuing a string of colorful expletives before he tries to punch Peeta in the face. It doesn't work, probably considering that Peeta isn't drunk and therefore much better on his feet.

"Good morning," I tell Haymitch dryly. "We need to talk to you."

"That's no way to get me to want to talk to you, sweetheart," Haymitch snarls at me, his hair dripping wet on the dirty floor.

"It's important, Haymitch," Peeta says quietly, gesturing around the house, trying to make Haymitch understand that we need to go someplace quiet to continue this discussion.

"I've lost interest in important things," Haymitch tells Peeta while sitting back down on the couch.

"Haymitch, the Quarter Quell is being announced tonight. I know you know that," Peeta tells him in a low voice.

"Don't care about the Quell. Ends the same way every year, why would this year be different?" Haymitch says, tipping the contents of a random bottle down his throat.

It didn't end the same last time. And it's not going to end the same this time because I'll do all I can to help whoever is forced into the arena. It's my obligation as a Mentor to do that. It's Haymitch's obligation as well.

"We care about it, Haymitch!" I shout.

My outburst startles Peeta who flinches at the sound of my voice but I focus on staring daggers at Haymitch.

"I don't care if you don't give a shit about anything but we have an obligation to the children that are picked this year and that is to help them!" Haymitch's expression is unreadable and he takes another large sip from whatever's in the bottle he's holding. My face heats up and I can feel the rage and anger I've felt the past few months bubble to the surface. It's my breaking point.

"You're useless," I hiss at him, my voice filled with venom. "Completely useless. The fact that you stayed sober enough to keep us alive is beyond me!"

I know that I'm being harsh and I don't mean the words that are spilling out of my mouth but I need to yell at someone. I need to scream my frustrations at a real person and Haymitch is the easiest target.

My hands feel empty so I pick up a bottle of white liquor and throw it as hard as I can against the wall. I'm about to pick up another when I feel Peeta's hands on my arm.

"Katniss," he says quietly, and I drop my arms in defeat. Peeta leads me to the door and pulls me into a hug. I melt into it, easily distracted by the comfort his warmth brings. He doesn't say anything for a few moments but I don't mind the silence. I take a few calming breathes, inhaling the scent of his shirt, while he rubs his hands up and down my back. I feel my shoulders relax and he pulls back to look at me.

"I'll talk to him," he says. "You go back to my house. I'll meet you there soon. Alright?"

In any other situation I would be angry and a bit offended that Peeta thinks I should be 'sent home' like a disobedient child but I'm so thankful that he isn't making me relive our discussion with Gale that I simply nod and head out the door.

* * *

I lie in Peeta's bed and wait for him to come back, studying the blue stitching of his bedspread. I know that if I let my mind drift to the Quarter Quell I'll just become distressed so I stick to tangible objects. I notice that Peeta's room is the exact same shape as mine but his, somehow, seems a lot more like a home. Maybe it's his smell that lingers in the air or the simple fact that I like his room better than my own. Probably because everything about his room reminds me of him.

I must have drifted off at some point because when I wake up, surprisingly nightmare free, Peeta is lying next to me sketching in his notebook.

"Good evening, sleeping beauty," he says, eyes never leaving his sketch. I sit up and stretch before I move over to him.

The evening sun is casting shadows over his face and his mouth is puckered in concentration. I should ask him about his conversation with Haymitch but I can guess where it went. Peeta's good with words, which is why I was the one sent home.

"He forgives you, you know," Peeta says. "For yelling at him. He won't say it but I know he does."

Peeta licks his lips, concentrating on the movements of his pencil. I glance down at his sketchbook and see that he is drawing a girl. I know it's supposed to be me because the girl in this picture is asleep on a bed. My hair is falling over her face and her lips are slightly parted. But this girl is much more beautiful than I am.

"That's not a very accurate representation of what I look like," I tell Peeta as I take the sketchbook from his hands. Peeta looks up in confusion but I've moved so close that when his head turns to me our lips meet. I toss the sketchbook behind me somewhere on the bed and Peeta doesn't seem to miss it so much now that I've occupied him with something much more enjoyable.

Our kissing becomes heated quickly. We've missed each other and he rolls on top of me, pinning me to the blue bedspread I was studying intently less than an hour ago. I decide that it's much more effective to kiss Peeta when I need a distraction and that I'll have to do it more often from now on.

His hands move expertly down my sides, precariously close to my chest, before brings them back up and knots them in my hair. It may be the stress of these past few days, but I'm feeling bold and I slip my hands under his white t-shirt and glide them over his stomach.

Peeta makes a sound in the back of his throat that sends an electric current through my body and I wrap my arms around his back and pull him closer to me.

He breaks away for a moment and looks at me, his blue eyes impossibly dark, his cheeks flushed and breath heavy.

"We should probably slow down," he says but the words don't have much meaning as he moves to brush his lips over my collarbone.

"Probably," I agree as I pull his face back to mine and start kissing him again. Peeta's hand creeps down my sides again and slips under my shirt, resting on my bare stomach. I'm the one to break away this time, breathing ragged. He doesn't move away and I don't want him to. I close my eyes, rest my head on his pillow, and listen to my heart beat in my ears as he inches his hand up my torso, stopping just below my bra, all the while pressing delicate kisses to my neck and throat.

"You have to let me know. Let me know if we're going too fast," he says, voice deep and husky. I shake my head in what I hope is a 'no, it's not too fast' signal and my lips find his again. His tongue is hot and demanding and I arch my back closer to him in an effort to push his hands in the direction that I want them.

Peeta's hand glides over my bra and I emit an embarrassing sound into his mouth and I feel him smile. I want him to continue touching me so badly. I want him to squeeze me there. I want so many different things to happen that it scares me so I'm both thankful and disappointed when he removes his hand from my chest. He pulls back for a moment and we stare at each other. My arms are still under his shirt and his rest on my stomach.

I let out a slow breathe, one I didn't realize I was holding in, and Peeta kisses me on the cheek before rolling off of me. I turn on my side and see that he's watching me, a giant grin plastered on his face.

And I almost say it: that three-word phrase that's been haunting me for a while now. Because it makes sense, doesn't it? It makes sense now.

I kiss him on the nose instead.

* * *

We missed dinner, apparently too caught up in each to notice the time.

We head over to my house 20 minutes before the Quell is set to be announced. Peeta's arm is slung over my shoulders and I lean into his warmth even though it's not particularly cold out tonight. We're crossing the street when Peeta speaks.

"I always hated that thing," he says.

"What thing?" I ask.

"That genetically altered rose bush beneath the sign of the Victor's Village," Peeta explains, nodding his head to the right. I follow his gaze and see the bush, full of red roses, beneath the white sign with the words "Victor's Village" printed in bold letters. I hadn't really noticed it before, even though I guess I should have. Roses don't bloom in the winter, do they?

"A mutt plant?" I question.

"I guess. Obviously it's there to look pretty but I don't like it. Though I guess it's a small thing to be worrying about now," he considers.

"Do you think it's dangerous?" I ask him and Peeta smiles.

"No. I've already gone over there to check it out. It's just a rose bush."

I'm about to respond but we're already across the street and at my house. Prim is waiting by the door and suddenly my anxiety about the Quarter Quell is all that fills my mind.

"Gale's here, Katniss," Prim says somberly. Thankfully she doesn't ask why Peeta and I missed dinner—it's not important. Not compared to this announcement. I've been stewing over it the past three days. I tug on her braid in a strange attempt to lighten the mood and I think it works a little.

I walk into the living room and see that Gale is seated on a chair in the corner next to my mother, who is standing nervously behind the couch. Gale raises his head when we enter, giving me a strange, forced nod. I take a deep breathe and sit on the couch, pulling Peeta down next to me, refusing to let go of his hand.

Prim sits next to Peeta and he puts his arm around her in a comforting gesture. I close my eyes and take deep breaths out of my nose to calm myself. Peeta squeezes my hand and I squeeze back. I open my eyes and he gives me a small, reassuring smile. One that I can't return.

I hear a knock on the door and Prim jumps up to answer it. To my surprise Haymitch, who is looking slightly more sober than I've seen him in months, walks in. He won't look at me but he nods at Peeta. I guess their discussion went better than I had expected.

Haymitch pulls a chair from the kitchen into the living room and sits down, rubbing his face roughly with his hands.

I turn my attention back to the television screen just as it lights up and a news anchor starts to speak.

"Good Evening, Panem. Tonight we have a special announcement directly from President Snow regarding the upcoming Third Quarter Quell." Peeta tightens his grip on my hand as the anchor goes into detail about the history of the Quell and the importance of the Hunger Games. I block it from my mind. I've heard it dozens of times and I still don't believe it. I can't, especially now that I've lived it.

All too soon, Snow's face fills the screen and my stomach rises to my throat. I'm sure my grip on Peeta's hand has become painful but he is squeezing back with equal force.

"Good Evening, Panem," he starts in his slow, lilting voice. He's dressed in a black suit that's accented with a red rose pinned to his lapel. I hate him.

"The Third Quarter Quell will be different from any we've ever experienced as a country and will teach the all of the Districts an important lesson: not even those strong enough to survive the punishment of the Capitol can fully escape it." Snow smiles as he speaks and my blood curdles under my skin. "At the same time, this Quell will show that the Capitol is generous as only 12 tributes will be Reaped."

I don't remove my eyes from the television screen. I don't blink. I don't breathe.

"One surviving Victor from each of the Districts has been chosen by the Gamemakers themselves by way of vote. The chosen Victor will demonstrate his or her skills in this year's arena. Those Victors selected will be transported to the Capitol in one month's time and the Quell will begin one week later. There will be no sponsors. There will be no Mentors. There will be no volunteers."

I stare at the screen not fully processing the words that I just heard. Snow's face disappears and is replaced with a picture of a handsome young man from District 1. Next to his face is a list of statistics from his first Hunger Games: letters and numbers that mean nothing to me because I'm still trying to understand what's happening. This man on the screen was obviously chosen to compete again. Chosen by the Capitol to die. Again.

Faces flash before me, and I recognize a few of them. A woman named Enobaria from District 2, a tribute so vicious she ripped out another tribute's throat with her teeth. To celebrate that feat, she had her teeth altered to resemble small fangs.

More faces appear on the screen but I'm too preoccupied to really see them. I'm too busy piecing together Snow's words in my head: the Capitol's Gamemakers are choosing this year's tributes out of an existing pile of Victors. Only one from each District.

I see Finnick's face fill the screen, next to more statistics: number of kills, weapon of choice, past sponsor count. Seeing Finnick's face saddens me because I know I will have to kill him because it's obvious that I have been chosen to go back.

I'm positive about it. It's what Snow said—my family will be safe but he never said anything about me. The logical part of my brain is rationalizing the decision. It makes complete and total sense. Snow can eliminate me easily, no literal blood on his hands.

Yet the emotional part of my brain is slipping into a frenzy and it seems that part is overtaking my calm acceptance very fast.

I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and bile rise in my throat. I recognize a few more Victors who have been chosen but can't really concentrate on anything other than the terror that's coursing through me.

_I can't go back. I can't go back. I can't go back. _

I repeat the words in my mind as the panic eats at me, making my vision swim.

But my fear turns to confusion and then complete heartbreak when the District 12 Victor is chosen.

It's Peeta.


	12. Chapter 12

No.

It's all I can think; the only word running through my mind. _No. No. No._

_It must be some mistake_, I think pitifully, but Peeta's face remains emblazoned on the television and I know it's not. The screen switches from his face, alone next to a bunch of statistics I no longer care about, to the faces of all the Victors who were Reaped.

Twelve faces. Twelve faces who have lived through the horror of these Games. Who have already been manipulated and destroyed beyond words.

But I only see one.

_No sponsors._

_No Mentors._

_No volunteers. _

I don't comprehend the severity of the situation. Not yet. I can't think properly, my mind a jumble of words and pictures; my shock outweighing anything else. I vaguely register that Snow is talking again on screen but I can't hear a thing, the beating in my ears drowning out any and all noise, and before I know it, the television screen is black again.

I feel someone pulling at my hands and turn to see Peeta, face ashen, trying to loosen my grip on his fingers. I'm lagging in my reactions because before I know it, he's standing up, already having pried himself loose of me. I shoot up off the couch after him, hands shaking terribly, grasping at his shirt. I think I'm shaking my head but I can't be sure because the world seems to be on a tilt. I lock my eyes on his, my grip on his shirt so tight that I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms through the fabric. His expression is unreadable.

I mean to say something but my mouth only hangs open. Peeta glances down at our hands and it's like things are moving in slow motion. He folds his hands over mine and tries to loosen my grip but I won't let him. I can't, because I'm starting to understand: they're going to take him away from me.

Peeta gives up, brings one of his hands up to my cheek, and it relaxes me, but only enough for me to slightly loosen my grip on his shirt, only enough for Peeta to pull away.

He doesn't look at anyone as he leaves the house.

I move blindly after him but feel someone grab my wrist. Drawn momentarily out of my stupor, I look to see that Haymitch is the one who has stopped me. He looks sad. So impossibly sad and it's a strange expression to see out of him.

I turn back to the couch because I had forgotten other people were here. Other people were watching the television; other people saw the announcement.

_Maybe I was imaging things. Maybe I hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe it's just a terrible nightmare and I'll wake up in Peeta's arms in a few short moments._

Gale is bent over, elbows on knees, head in hands. He doesn't look up at me. Mother is behind him, pale and expressionless. It's Prim who makes me realize that this is real, oh so real. She's sitting on the couch, silently weeping, tears trailing down her pretty little face. When our eyes meet she lets out a long wail.

_Real._

I rip my eyes from Prim's shaking form and move towards the door again but Haymitch is still holding my wrist. I look at him, not sure what expression my face holds. Shock? Confusion? Heartbreak?

"Sweetheart."

Haymitch's voice is soft, nothing like the deep raspy one he usually shouts my way. I've heard him utter this word—some weird pet name he's given me—thousands of times, but never the way he's said it now.

"Please," I ask him, my voice cracking with the weight of the word. But what am I asking? To help Peeta? To save him? To make this go away? To save me?

Haymitch lets go of my wrist and I'm out the door, down the steps and into the cold. I feel my scarf flying out behind me as I run and don't even care when I feel it fall off. I run up Peeta's steps and fling open his front door without knocking. I scan his kitchen, which is still in the pristine condition he left it in earlier today. As I'm walking into his living room I hear a loud thump, rattling the light fixtures attached to the ceilings.

I take the stairs two at a time and run into his bedroom. Empty.

I start opening doors at random now and on my third try I see him.

He's in some sort of converted painting studio, the walls of which are covered in different paintings and drawings. I don't look to see what they are because Peeta is throwing a can of paint across the room at an easel. I'm sure there was a beautiful picture, a scene, on the canvas before but right now it's covered in paint splotches. Blue, black, purple and red. So much red.

The can hits the canvas and more red paint splatters across the room. Finally Peeta turns around and I see that he's covered in paint as well. Red paint. So much red and the sight of him reminds me so much of The Hunger Games, him covered in blood, that I let out a shriek.

Peeta turns around at the sound of my voice. He doesn't move, only breathing heavily and glances at me with those blue, blue, eyes, so blue against the red. I don't see softness in them anymore. I see anger, absolute fury. But once they lock on mine I see them turn to sorrow.

I walk swiftly across the room and, hands still shaking, try to rub the red paint away from his face but I only end up spreading it.

Images of Cato's bloody face fill my mind. Rue's dead body. Peeta's infected leg. Peeta's scratched and bloodied face, flushed with fever. Peeta shivering in the dark cave. The images and memories twist and turn and suddenly I can't get the image of Peeta, lifeless and cold, from my mind.

The fear comes back now. Fear coupled with shock and panic. I see Peeta close his eyes slowly and let out a long, slow breathe.

"Look at me," I tell him, trying as hard as I can to keep my voice steady. "Look at me," I repeat, hands on either side of his face. When he obliges I almost wish he didn't because the hopelessness that stares back at me makes my blood turn cold. I've never seen him this way, not even when he was inches from death during our Games, not even when I told him I didn't love him afterwards. At those times there was always a sliver of light underneath the dark. Not now.

Not until now did I truly grasp the implications of tonight's announcement. The complete hopelessness of the situation. No mentors, no volunteers, no sponsors. He's completely alone. They're taking him from me.

"You are going to make it back, do you understand?" The strong façade I put up earlier shakes when my voice cracks on the last word. My hands are still shaking and in an effort to make it seem less obvious I sweep them over his face. Peeta looks at me, unresponsive.

"Do you?" I ask, voice watery. I'm searching his eyes, urging him to answer, to agree with me. Instead, he slumps, head hitting the wall with a soft thump, and he closes his eyes.

"I love you," he responds faintly and it's not the answer I was looking for. I feel my stomach turn sour and I can't formulate words. I start to panic and I feel my face screw up as I try to hold back my tears. The way he said it, those words, it was a 'goodbye'.

But it can't be. I won't allow it. I've tried so hard to keep him alive and I am not going to give up now. _He_ can't give up now.

I'm still trying desperately to rub the paint from his face and Peeta just stares back at me, eyes glassy and sad. I feel a sob bubble up in my throat and I try to swallow it back unsuccessfully.

"Peeta." His name escapes my mouth in a pathetic little cry.

The sound must get his attention because it's then that he throws his arms around me and crushes me to him. All I can do is hang on.

He rests his head in the crook of my neck and I press my face into his paint covered t-shirt, shutting my eyes while tears silently leak out of them despite my best efforts to hold them in.

I've felt this way before, I realize. I felt this way when Prim's name was drawn.

_Panic. Fear. Shock. _

This time, though, it's worse. Whatever I thought Snow had in mind for his year's Quarter Quell I had no idea it would be this cruel.

I can't take Peeta's place, like I did for Prim. I can't sacrifice myself. I can't fix it.

_Panic. Fear. Shock. Frustration. Sorrow. Hopelessness._

I don't know how long we stand there, but eventually we slide to the floor in a mess of arms and legs, still holding tightly to each other.

I did this to him, didn't I? I did this to him. Sure, I protected him from Finnick Odair's prostitution fate but I didn't protect him fully. I failed him.

I lift my head from his chest and look into his eyes, which, unlike mine, are dry. How can he keep it together? I wonder what he's thinking right now but he answer's my question before I can ask it.

"I'm just so happy it wasn't you," he whispers. "I thought it was going to be you. I really did. But I'm so happy it's not."

The tears come steady and fast now, trailing down my face.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, barely getting the words out. _I'm sorry because I did this to you_, I think. Because I would do anything to change this. I run my fingers along his jaw and take deep, heavy breathes while I try to collect myself. Peeta shifts me so he's cradling fully me in his lap. How odd, it is. He's the one sentenced to die and yet he's comforting me.

"You'll come back," I verify against his chest, my voice fragile. I lift my head and look up at him, his paint covered face inches from mine. "Promise me you'll come back."

Peeta stares at me for a second, the hopelessness still tattooed across his features.

"I'll try," he says. I don't have time to argue with him because he's kissing me, hard and soft at the same time. Our mouths move together perfectly, like they did not hours ago in his bed. Like they did on his porch and on the train and on the beach and in the cave.

But this kiss is not like the others.

This one is terribly, terribly sad.

* * *

At some point I fall asleep, cradled in Peeta's arms with the moon light shining in through the window. I don't know how or when, but I fell asleep. I wake up to Peeta's steady heartbeat and for a moment I forget where I am. Until, of course, I smell the paint and notice the cold hardness of the wood floor. Then I remember.

I look up at Peeta and see that his eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. Tears have made small tracks down his cheeks in the dried red pain and it breaks my heart that he waited until I fell asleep to cry while I did it so openly in front of him.

I bring up my hands, arms stiff from my sleeping position, and glide my fingers underneath his eyes. The area is still wet.

"Good morning," he whispers hoarsely. I don't answer. It's not a good morning.

"Did you sleep at all?" I ask instead. He shakes his head 'no' and swallows.

"You should take a shower. I'll cook you breakfast and then you can sleep," I tell him softly, brushing away the hair that the paint has plastered to his face. I don't remember the last time we haven't been able to sleep at night together. The fact that I couldn't help him last night is just another thing that's become deeply upsetting in the past 12 hours.

Peeta shakes his head and my fingers fall from his cheek to his neck.

"No, it's okay. I need to go see my family... You should go to Prim, she's probably worried," he explains and I frown. The fact that he has to seek out his family at a time like this, that they didn't come and find him themselves, sickens me.

"Do you want me to go with you?" I ask him and it's the first time I see him smile since before the announcement, even if it's only slightly.

"No, that's alright. It will probably be a bit…overwhelming for everyone there. You don't need to deal with that."

I don't tell him that maybe I want to go there. Maybe I want to 'deal with that.' To be there for him. But it's obvious he needs to be alone, if only for a short while. It's what I would want, so I don't argue.

"Oh. Okay. Well I'll be waiting for you when you come back. I'll be here."

Peeta closes his eyes for a moment and sighs sadly.

"Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you."

I can feel my eyes brimming again but desperately push back the tears. I've cried too much. Instead I get up off the floor and hold out my hands to help Peeta up. He struggles a bit on his bad leg and a wave of pain passes through me. It's another obstacle he will face in the arena; an obstacle that was gifted to him less than four months ago by the same terrible people.

"I'll walk you out," he says but I brush it off, knowing that any moment I'll start to cry again and it's better he doesn't see.

"It's okay. Go get cleaned up. I'll see you soon," I say. I turn around to leave his studio but think better of it. Instead, I grab his face in my hands and kiss him hard on the mouth.

"I'll be back," I tell him vehemently after I pull away. I leave the room, walk down the stairs, out the front door and across the street, all the while breathing steadily. I walk up the steps to my front porch and into the house, quietly climb the stairs, and walk silently into my bedroom, concentrating hard on not breaking down. I don't bother closing the door and move straight to the bathroom.

As calmly as I can, I turn on the shower and climb in, fully clothed, and collapse on the floor of the tub. It takes me a full 15 seconds before I'm sobbing uncontrollably, my tears mixing with the red paint that's washing off my body, creating a grotesque design on the tub floor.

The full weight of what's happening hits me again and all I can think is that they're taking him from me. Once I've known what it's like to have him, to feel the way I do about him, they're taking him away. And I've done it to him. I've created this monster, somehow. In some way, I didn't live up to Snow's expectations. Or maybe he didn't expect anything of me at all. Maybe it was all part of his plan—to make me fall for this boy only to rip him away. Just a part of his evil game.

I turn my head at the sound of the bathroom door opening slightly.

"Katniss?"

Prim's voice is tentative and concerned. I wonder if she heard me come in. Unlikely, considering my careful, quiet tread. It was probably the irrepressible crying that got her attention and that idea just makes me bawl even harder.

Prim must hear this because she rushes into the bathroom and stops dead in her tracks at the sight of me. I probably look ridiculously pathetic. Scrawny in my dark wet clothes, hair pinned to my cheeks, face red and blotchy from the weeping. I'm just glad the red paint has washed away.

I look up at her from the bottom of the shower and we lock eyes for a second. She moves her mouth to say something but closes it at the last minute. She climbs into the shower with me instead and holds my head in her lap, silently allowing me to cry until I have no more tears left to produce, until the shower runs cold and we both start to shiver.

Prim turns the water off and we sit there, wet and cold for a long time. She strokes my hair, humming a song I used to sing for her when she would have nightmares when she was little.

"I love him," I whimper.

She doesn't say anything because she doesn't have to. She's known all along.

* * *

Two weeks have passed since the announcement. Two weeks exactly because I've been unconsciously counting the days, cherishing the ones we have left before he's sent off. Unfortunately you wouldn't think it because of the way that I'm acting.

Once I collected myself off the shower floor that first morning I vowed to pull myself together for Peeta. After all, how can I protect him if I'm a sniveling mess? What kind of confidence would that instill in him if I spend my days crying? So I've relented to hiding my emotions. Hiding them the same way I did on the Tour. I've put the wall up again and I'm hiding behind it because it's the only way I know how to deal with myself.

I drive all of my energy into Peeta's training, an idea that came to me a few days after the announcement. I decided that I would Mentor him, train him like a Career, because the stronger he is, the better equipped he will be in the arena.

When I told him this one morning as I was watching him bake he shrugged at the idea. Non-committal. But then he saw the look in my eyes and decided it was better to acquiesce than to argue.

That's all he's been doing. Shrugging and relenting and turning in on himself. He's quieter but not obviously so. He's perfectly chatty with Mother and Prim at meals, complimenting the food and asking about Prim's day. You wouldn't think he had just been sentenced to death but I can see the subtleties. The way his shoulders slump slightly. The way his smile is harder to come by. The way his laugh is almost forced. The way he stiffens at any mention of the future, even if it's discussing what may or may not be happening in an hour.

I'm not helpful in these situations. I stare glumly at my food and eat without tasting it. I hold Peeta's hand under the table and concentrate on not throwing my glass of water at the wall; on not screaming and breaking things because I'm angry. I'm absolutely furious. My initial despair has turned into a red-hot rage. I'm angry with Snow for creating this. I'm angry with myself for letting it happen. I'm angry with myself for falling so easily for Snow's plan, for getting caught in too deep with this beautiful boy. And I'm angry with Peeta for making me feel the way I do about him because I never wanted this. I tried my hardest to never get caught up in my feelings. I've prided myself in my ability to lock others out and the one time I foolishly let my heart lead me, it brings me this.

It makes me quiet. I act the same way around him, only quieter. Peeta notices but doesn't say anything even though I know he would if we weren't in this situation. The announcement has changed both of us and the realization brings forth emotions I promptly lock away. We tiptoe around the subject. Our interactions focus mostly on his training—exercising, strength training, agility, and survival skills.

I push Peeta as best I can—force him to run faster, harder. Push-ups, crunches, anything that could help. It's difficult and I have to use my imagination because I'm not used to the exercise, it's not something I know about. Luckily Peeta is naturally athletic and he uses techniques he's learned during wrestling training. I want to ask Peeta why his brothers don't help him because they'd be better than I am in this situation, but I don't. Because I'm a coward and I'm hiding.

Mother and Prim help too. They cook us healthy meals that I force down Peeta's throat. Mother teaches Peeta healing techniques: the correct plants to use for cuts, burns, fever. Sometimes it's too much for her, though. She'll be in the middle of a plant description and she won't finish her sentence. She'll stare at Peeta for a long while, then switch her gaze to me and completely disappear. That's when I lead her to bed and Prim continues where Mother left off.

I haven't seen Gale or Haymitch. I haven't heard about the brewing rebellion. And I don't care. I don't care because I only have one purpose: to make Peeta come back. And that can only happen if his training goes well. At least that's what I say to myself.

I still sleep in his bed, because no matter my rage, I need him. Peeta still insists on baking in the morning, extremely early, because no matter what he still feels the need to provide 12 with bread. I help him carry what he bakes to the Hob but I only look at the ground. On the way back I clutch his hand and let him lead me. We're both so exhausted at night that we typically fall asleep above the covers before we can even brush our teeth.

Peeta's nightmares grow in number and intensity. Sometimes neither of us sleeps and I spend the majority of the early morning hours calming him. These are the times my anger turns to sadness. When Mother has to leave the room. When the hopelessness won't leave Peeta's eyes. When we're both vulnerable and exhausted—just two scared teenagers who can't fall asleep at night.

The last time we kissed, really kissed, was the night before the Quarter Quell announcement. We share innocent kisses goodnight, and I think we both have the desire to do more but fall asleep before we can really even entertain the thought.

Despite my anger, despite my grief, my feelings for him haven't changed. They're still there, just clouded over with a thick layer of hate and sadness. Peeta usually tries to talk to me before we sleep. He's tired and his words slur slightly with the effort but it's the only time of the day he actively tries to communicate. So I'm not surprised when he addresses me tonight.

"Katniss?" he asks.

I'm brushing out my hair and he's sitting on his bed, shoulders slumped and head down, a posture I've grown used to seeing him in. I pretend it doesn't break my heart.

"Peeta?" I respond. It's my attempt at being playful. To try and coax him out of his shell, which I realize is useless if I'm in one as well.

"Can I ask you a question?" he asks. I know why he's doing it this way. He started off asking blunt questions, questions I didn't want to address so I ignored them, changing the subject every time because I'm a coward.

"You just did," I respond with the tiniest hint of trepidation to my voice. The bags under his eyes are enormous and I know he needs to sleep more but it's impossible. I can't seem to help him and the emotions I've hidden away rattle in their locked compartment.

"What's going to happen?" he asks, pressing on, ignoring my attempts at diversion. I freeze and stare down at him. "What are you going to do when I leave?" he asks quietly.

I don't like how this is turning out so I kneel down and start to undo his prosthetic. I've never done it before and know that if I start, Peeta will stop me and the question will be successfully avoided. Luckily, my predictions are correct.

"I'll do that, don't worry," he says hastily. For some reason he still thinks I'll be disgusted by his leg. It's absolutely ridiculous.

"I thought we were past this," I admonish, which is ironic because we are technically past me avoiding his questions as well. I pull the prosthetic away and look up at him.

"It's gruesome," he answers, so I purposefully plant a kiss on the puckered flesh and give him my best attempt at a smile.

"So is my hair in the morning but you don't seem to mind it. Now lie back," I order. Peeta gives me a confused look but he does as he's told, lying down slowly on his bed. I sit next to him and take his bad leg, place it on my lap, and start to massage the muscles. I've seen him do this, secretly of course, when he thinks I can't see him. It's always after a rough workout but he doesn't want to seem weak. Doesn't want to seem like a bad sport. Peeta sighs and closes his eyes.

"That feels good," he says softly and my heart swells and breaks at the same time.

"Good," I answer. "That's the point."

We sit there for a while, Peeta quiet, while I rub his aching leg. I can feel them, the emotions, but I push them up and over the wall I hide behind.

"You didn't answer my question."

I pause my ministrations on his leg and look at him. His eyes are big and questioning and I know I can't deny him an answer.

"I don't know," I whisper. "I don't know what I'm going to do." It's all I can give him now and I hope that my uncertainty is enough at this point.

Peeta inches closer to me and his hands find mine.

"I don't know what I'm going to do either," he whispers. His body language tells me he's happy we're discussing this but I don't like the way this conversation is headed.

"You fight," I answer, before he can go on. I won't look him in the eyes, though. I know if I do, the emotions will come flooding forth. "You fight and you come back." I want to hide in the bathroom and not have this conversation. I'm about to get up and pretend to get water downstairs when I feel Peeta's hand on my arm.

"Where did you go?" he asks me quietly. I want to yell at him that I'm right here but I know exactly what he's talking about. I went and hid. I've been hiding behind my wall. Instead of explaining, I ask him a question in return.

"Where did _you_ go?" I can see him looking for an answers because this Peeta, the one before me, isn't the one I know. He's hiding too. Peeta's response surprises me.

"I'm not going to make it out, Katniss," he says so softly I almost don't hear him. But I do. I _do_ hear him. I turn to look at him so quickly my neck cracks.

"Don't." I warn him. "Don't say that."

"We shouldn't lie to each other anymore," he retorts.

"I'm not lying. I'm not lying because you're coming back. You're going to make it."

This conversation is long overdue. We need this. We need to discuss the future but I've always diverted. Peeta's tried before. He's alluded to the fact that he won't make it out a variety of times. The way he trains, only enough to make me happy. The way he's quiet; the way he shuts himself away sometimes throughout the day.

"_It's not worth it, Katniss,"_ I remember him saying one morning. I thought he was referring to an extra piece of bacon I forced him to eat but now I know what he was really talking about.

I've ignored these attempts before but I can't now. Especially when he yells the next few words.

"I'm going to die, Katniss!"

For a moment I just stare at him, shocked, and Peeta takes the opportunity to elaborate.

"The odds clearly aren't in my favor. The other Victor's are much better than I am. Older. They've mentored before. They've lived these Games longer than I have. I think you need to come to terms with the fact that I might not—"

He doesn't finish his sentence because I slap him so hard my hand stings.

"Don't. Don't you dare."

It's all I can think of to say. Peeta looks up at me with those huge blue eyes and I have to look away from him for fear that the emotions might come again and I won't be able to keep them locked away.

"I'm sorry," he says. I'd almost him rather have continued his little speech because the look in his eyes when he says it speaks millions. _He's sorry he's going to die._

"I'm going for a walk," I tell him while getting off the bed and heading towards the door. I see the panic cross his face. Has he finally realized his mistake? The affect his words have on me? He moves to get his prosthetic but I glare at him so fiercely he shrinks back into the pillows.

"Don't follow me," I hiss and I slam his bedroom door behind me.

Once outside I collapse in the snow and stare at the moon. I can't keep the emotions contained anymore and they bubble over and spill out. I feel like I might hyperventilate and breathing is so impossibly difficult without him holding me when I feel like this. _Weak_, I think to myself. _So weak_.

I wait in the snow, hoping the cold will numb me but it doesn't do anything for my mind.

I don't know what time it is when I go back into the house. Peeta is either asleep or pretending to. I crawl under the covers of his bed, as far away from him as I can, and silently start to cry into the pillow. I feel the bed shift and suddenly Peeta's arms are around me, his chest pressing against my back. This is the time I want him to speak again. I want his comforting words, but none are forthcoming.

I turn around in his arms and press myself as close as I can to him, tucking my head under his chin, inhaling his scent greedily, and hope he can get some sleep tonight.

* * *

I wake up early the next morning, still pressed closely to Peeta. I'm not surprised he's already awake. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't sleep at all. When he feels me stir he pulls back to look me in the eyes.

"I'm sorry for last night," he says, his tired eyes imploring mine. He doesn't like fighting. He never has and that's an obvious problem; something he will have to come to terms with before he goes into the arena. I just shake my head at him.

"Come with me, I want to teach you something," I tell him, grabbing his hand and getting out of bed.

"What?" he asks, curious. This is breaking our routine. Usually he bakes, then exercises, then eats, then exercises, then eats again and then we sleep. This is different.

"It's a surprise," I say, knowing I won't be able to tell him until we're in a bathroom. Once we dress, I lead him out of the house, across the street and silently into my bedroom, careful not to wake up mother and Prim. Once inside, I lock the bedroom door behind me and motion for Peeta to turn on the faucets in the bathroom.

Wordlessly I crawl under my bed and untie the bow and arrows that Gale hid. I undo the knots and I can't really believe it took me this long to think of teaching him the basics of archery. If he can learn this skill, keep it a secret all through training, and then get his hands on a bow and arrow in the arena it, would be an obvious and crucial advantage.

Once I've freed the weapon, I slowly crawl out from under the bed and see Peeta in the bathroom doorway staring at me in shock. I simply shrug and disentangle myself and the bow before heading into the bathroom. I place the bow and arrows on the floor and get a few pillows from my bed to use as targets. _It's a good thing the bathroom is enormous_, I think as I close the bathroom door behind me.

"I'm going to teach you how to shoot today," I tell Peeta quietly and assess his reaction.

Defeat.

He was hoping our conversation last night would change my mind about trying so hard to train him but it only motivated me even more. He thought this diversion from our routine was me relenting, letting him have his way. Giving up. He's wrong.

"Watch me," I instruct and Peeta only nods. I guess I should feel guilty about pressuring Peeta into this training but my desire to keep him alive outweighs anything at this point so I shrug off the way he's staring at me now.

I pick up the bow and weigh it in my hands, missing the feel of it. The last time I held it was before the Victory Tour. If I close my eyes I almost feel like myself before the Games. Before all of this happened. My anger disappears. My sadness disappears. There's nothing to distract me.

Eyes still closed, I pull back the string, testing the resistance. I'm myself again and I smile slightly. I pick up an arrow and nock it, not having to see what I'm doing, remembering out of habit.

I'm completely at home, my old self, and maybe that's what gives me the strength to tell him.

I pull back to string and open my eyes, aiming at a bottle of shampoo on the shelf.

"I'm in love with you, Peeta," I say and I let the arrow fly. It pierces the bottle, sticking it to the wall behind it, shampoo leaking through the hole. I'm not even sure why it took me so long to say it. I've felt it for a while and actually acknowledged my feelings weeks ago. But for some reason, telling him seemed difficult.

I string another arrow and pull back.

"That's why you need to come back. To me," I inform him, and I let the arrow fly again, this time hitting a bar of soap in the shower. I lower the bow and turn to look at him. Peeta's eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open slightly. For a second I wonder if he heard me.

"Peeta, I love you," I tell him more confidently, and we stare each other down. It takes a few seconds, but eventually Peeta moves towards me and touches my face. The gesture is simple but profound and I close my eyes briefly.

"You love me?" he asks, incredulously. I want to laugh. Isn't it obvious? His eyes, blue and wide, seem to open up the vault I've been hiding my emotions in. I feel the tears brim behind my eyes. I cannot lose him.

"Yes," I affirm. "And that's…you can't say those things. About you not making it because…I can't imagine…I'm sorry it took so long to say…I was scared and angry and…" My voice had started firm but it's turned into something of a rickety mess and I can't even finish my sentences. Peeta seems to understand though and he kisses me once on the lips.

"Okay," he responds, pulling away from me but I grab this face and kiss him again because I desperately miss his kisses.

"I love you, too," he murmurs, pushing the words into my mouth and we don't break apart. I've missed kissing him, really kissing him. Kissing him until I feel my heartbeat in my ears and I can't breathe. Kissing him until I completely forget where I am and my knees go weak.

He pushes me into the tiled wall of the bathroom, my bow completely forgotten on the floor somewhere behind us. Peeta breaks away, breathing heavily, planting light kisses all over my face, his hands trail down my sides and grip my hips.

"Do you understand now?" I ask breathlessly, my hands landing on his cheeks, moving over his forehead and down to his lips. "You can't give up."

He searches my eyes for a moment, rooting me to the spot.

"I won't," he affirms and he brings his lips to mine again. The kiss starts out slow, like all of Peeta's kisses when he means something. But soon it turns into a frenzied rush, the kind that makes my insides burn. Our hips are pressed tightly together and I feel him pressed against my stomach. I honestly can't remember the last time I felt his arousal. Maybe I was too preoccupied over the last two weeks to even care but he has my full attention now. I grab his hips and pull him even closer to me and he groans into my mouth.

Peeta surprises me by grabbing the backs of my knees and hitching them around his hips, never breaking the kiss. It's a welcome change, and I'm not sure what's come over me, maybe it's the adrenaline, but I rock my hips forward, arching my back off the bathroom wall, until I feel his erection just where I want it. The affect it has is extremely satisfying but Peeta's knees almost buckle on the spot and he has to brace himself against the wall.

Keeping one arm around my waist, he somehow he manages to open the bathroom door and we make our way over to my bed. Together we collapse against the mattress and the sudden contact and the way it pushes us together makes me sigh and him grunt.

I sit up, pull away slightly, and look at him: his face is flushed, lips wet and parted, gaze hazy and dark. Peeta's so far gone he doesn't notice I've pulled his shirt over his head until it's flying across the room. I push on his chest and he falls down onto the pillows, looking up at me in awe, almost like he's drunk, like he can't really imagine how we got ourselves into this situation.

I climb on top of him and trail my fingers down his chest, his stomach, staring at his body. The one I will do whatever it takes to protect. I remember the last time I saw him with his shirt off in this kind of situation. He was sunburned. The burn has faded now and left small freckles all over his torso. I studiously connect them with my fingers. He's still wearing his pajama pants. Curious, I ghost my fingers ghost over the bulge in his pants and Peeta lets out a deep breathe.

"You," he grunts. "Are you...we should-"

I cut off his sentence with my mouth and he seems to get the point. When I start to trail kisses down his jaw he speaks.

"Your turn," he orders, voice deep and husky, and he rolls me over so our positions are switched.

He kisses my neck, my throat, the exposed parts of my collarbone, all the while slipping his fingers under my shirt and running them over my stomach agonizingly slow, stopping just below my breasts, never touching them.

"Take it off," I breathe, referring to my shirt, and Peeta happily obliges.

But once my shirt is off and thrown haphazardly across the room I suddenly lose my confidence. Peeta is staring, slack jawed, at my chest, and I move to cover it but Peeta pushes me back down on the pillows, pinning my arms to the bed. His eyes move up to mine and they're that impossible shade of blue. The same color as the sea glass hidden away in the top drawer of my dresser.

"No," he half pants, half murmurs. "Please, let me look at you." All I can do is nod as Peeta lets go of my arms, tentatively moving his hands to my chest, tracing the outline of my right breast with his thumb. I let out a rattling breath. Peeta swallows and gently squeezes, eyes never leaving his hands. It reminds me of the way a painter sizes up a model.

"You better not paint this," I caution. I mean for it to be a warning but it comes out as more of a breathy sigh. Peeta's eyes move to mine and he laughs.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he says lowly and I can't tell if he's joking or not but it doesn't matter.

I close my eyes and concentrate on the way his fingers are moving, squeezing, and suddenly both of his hands are on me. I'm not sure if he has any idea what he's doing but when he pulls on one of my nipples and my eyes roll back in my head I change my mind. He's good at this.

The warmth is pooling in my belly at a rapid rate and I need his lips on mine again, so I yank his face up to mine and ungracefully shove my tongue in his mouth.

I'm completely lost, can't even form words, and the only thing that I can process is the feel of Peeta's hands on me, the way his mouth moves with mine. And that's all that matters right now, isn't it? I know there will be emotional consequences tomorrow or whenever we stop what we're doing but I can't worry about that now. I've pushed him away for too damn long.

The next time our mouths part, he trails his lips down my neck and goes straight for my breasts, littering hot, wet, kisses all over my chest. When I feel his tongue hit my nipple I let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

In the back of my mind, I realize that somehow during our escapades I've locked my legs around his waist. My hands are tangled in his hair and I'm acting on instinct alone. I have no idea what I'm doing but when I grind my hips into his, but Peeta's face falls to the hollow of my throat and he's the one who moans.

I'm not sure how we got here, but all that matters is that we're here now and the throbbing between my legs is growing unbearable, so my grinding becomes deeper and deeper. I can feel Peeta's breathe on my neck, and I'm clutching at his bare back.

"Katniss." My name leaves his mouth like a prayer and all I can do is whimper in response. "I…I don't want to stop…whatever this is—but…let me know…" He's about as articulate as I am and I don't want to actually have this discussion but he's beginning to ramble.

"If—oh god—you're…not…please…" He's not making much sense and the way he's breathing the words into my neck doesn't help to clear my head but I make him look at me anyway.

"Hey," I whisper until he's looking at me. "I want this. From you. Only you."

That seems to answer any questions he might have had because he responds with a searing kiss and we're back to wandering fingers and heavy pants.

All to suddenly Peeta pulls away, leaning on an elbow. He's trailing feather light kisses down my jaw and he stops once he reaches my heart. His hand is splayed across my lower abdomen, like he's thinking about something really important. His pause is making me impatient and the ache between my legs is uncomfortable.

"Please," is all I can get out as I pull his hips down to mine again. Peeta doesn't ask when he pulls my pants down and off. The abrupt action surprises me and suddenly I stiffen. It's when I realize how vulnerable I am. This is what it's all been leading up to, isn't it? Sex. And I'm not ready for it. Not yet.

Peeta must see the conflict in my eyes so he stops what he's doing, hands halting at the waistband of my underwear.

"We won't...I won't..." he whispers and then stops, collects his thoughts for a moment and then speaks again. "Do you trust me?" he whispers. He's still wearing pants, I rationalize. He wouldn't hurt me. Would never do anything to pressure me. He loves me.

My answer is simple.

"Yes," I breathe against his lips and he hesitates only a second before he pushes my underwear down my legs. His eyes never leave mine and I'm positive he can hear my heart rattling in my chest.

Slowly he slips a finger between my legs and his eyes turn molten. The feeling is nothing short of incredible and my head falls to the side. When he slips a finger inside me I whimper and Peeta's head falls to my neck again.

"Ah…shit," he groans. I must be soaking but and the only thing I can do is moan as his fingers move in and out of me. I completely lose track of time, and my hips buck off the bed when Peeta's thumb hits the bundle of nerves I've heard women in the Hob talk about.

I try kissing him again but we're both too distracted so we more or less end up breathing into each other's mouths, which is fine by me as long as Peeta's thumb keeps circling the place I had no idea existed before he came along. And that's the way it is, isn't it? I never knew any of this existed before him. The physical but mostly the emotional. I never believed it could.

"Peeta." It's a strangled sound as it leaves my lips and my body contracts in the most deliciously painful way around his fingers.

As I come down, he breathes heavily into my neck and his hands move to my face.

"I love you," he tells me. The look in his eyes is so dark, so intense. I want to respond with the same words but I can't move any part of my body. I'm spent, so when Peeta moves off of me, I whine in protest.

"I just…give me a minute," he whispers into my ear and it's then that I realize the bulge in his pants, rock solid and pressing against my side, is still there.

"But I wanted to do that for you," I blurt out. I have no idea where that came from because even if Peeta gave me the opportunity to finish him off I would have no idea how to. My lack of sleep and the exertions from today's activities, not to mention the overall stress of the past few weeks, have left me feeling like a bag of jelly. Peeta chuckles and kisses me deeply.

"Don't worry," he whispers and I watch him go into the bathroom, which, I realized, still have all the faucets running. I'm drifting on the edge of sleep now, and I hear Peeta turn the faucets off. When I feel him lie down next to me I open my eyes.

"I meant what I said before," I whisper, bringing my hand up to his face, thinking about those three words. "And you'll come back to me."

Peeta strokes my cheek and kisses my temple.

"Okay," he whispers.

"Promise me," I tell him.

He kisses me instead.

Because we promised months ago we wouldn't lie to each other anymore.

I'm too tired to cry.


	13. Chapter 13

When I wake up I'm automatically out of sorts, in part because it's dark outside, but primarily due to the fact that I'm completely naked. But once that realization hits, the events from this morning come to focus and I can feel my whole body flush. I'm lying across Peeta's chest and, as carefully as I can, I peel myself off of him crawl out of bed. Luckily he is out cold and doesn't notice.

_He must have been truly exhausted_, I think to myself as I grab my clothes off the floor and head into the bathroom, which is a mess.

I gently pick the bow and sheath of arrows off the floor and prop them up in the corner. I retrieve the arrows from where I shot them this morning and clean the bits of shampoo and soap off before returning them to the quiver.

It's not until I'm in the shower with the water running do I allow myself to fully process what happened. My words. His actions. _Our_ actions, if I'm being completely honest.

I use my fingers to gather some of the spilt shampoo off the ledge of the shower before working it into my hair and I let my mind wander.

I wish this morning didn't happen. I wish I didn't say those words, let him touch me and let myself be so absolutely intimate with him. Not because I didn't want to but because this just means it's going to be so much harder when I have to say goodbye. It's the exact reason why I don't let myself be impulsive in that way. It hurts too much afterwards. It's easier to keep myself locked away.

_Weak_._  
_

I was telling him the truth, though. I love him. I didn't want to love him, never wanted to love anyone, but I do. And I needed him to know. He needs to go into the arena knowing that I'm here waiting for him.

But saying the words, and acting on them, scares me. It makes my feelings more tangible; much more _real_. Everyone I love gets hurt and because this love for Peeta is so intensely different—a physical _and_ emotional ache—I fear that he will be punished more severely than anyone.

Through my mental rambling I notice that my fingers have started to prune so I towel off.

Before I leave the bathroom I wipe at the mirror to look at myself, suddenly extremely self-conscious. He saw everything and I didn't realize just how vulnerable I was until afterwards. I think he liked what he saw, though. I clearly remember his shallow pants against my neck and the feel of him pressed tightly to me. The memory alone is enough quicken my heart rate.

I pull apart my towel. I'm not as thin as before; the extra food adding some weight to my body. My hips seem slightly wider and my breasts are fuller. It's not awful but nothing special. My cheeks are not as sunken in as they were before the Hunger Games but the bags under my eyes remain. The stress of the current situation doesn't lend me much sleep. Peeta's bags are exponentially worse.

For a second I think that he would be better off with someone else, someone who isn't so emotionally damaged. Someone who wouldn't regret this morning's actions because they're too scared to deal with the consequences. But the thought of him touching anyone the way he touched me earlier makes my blood boil and I push the idea away from my mind.

Quietly, I pick some clean clothes out of my dresser and slip them on in the bathroom. My mind is still a mess. My feelings waver between guilt, fear and acceptance. And that four-letter word. It's a strange combination.

I brush my hair and braid it before I go back to Peeta, who is still asleep. The blankets are tangled around his legs and his bare chest just reminds me of earlier. I have the strong urge to kiss him there, hot and wet, but I resist. His hair is tousled and falling over his forehead. He looks so peaceful, so calm, and I can't help it when I brush the hair out of his eyes. He really is beautiful.

The contact, unfortunately, seems to rouse him and he opens his eyes, confused, before he seems to remember where he is. I watch the memories from earlier flash across his face and I can feel my face heat up.

"Why are you wearing clothes?" he asks, voice rough from sleep. The words should disconcert me but the way he says them, confused and slightly disappointed, almost makes me smile.

Almost.

"Sorry," I mumble. "I felt like I should shower…I was feeling…" I let the sentence trail, not sure what I was feeling, but Peeta finishes it for me with a devilish grin.

"Dirty?" he asks before laughing softly. That only makes me blush more and I try to look away but he just pulls me down so I'm lying on top of him. He's smiling so wide I wouldn't be surprised if his face split in two. It's contagious and I try to hide mine with a scowl. It feels selfish to be happy. Naïve.

Peeta's face turns serious almost immediately.

"You regret it, don't you?" he asks quietly and I frown, guilt seeping from my pores. I wonder if he could somehow hear my thoughts from inside the bathroom. From inside my head. When I don't answer he covers his face with his arm. I slide off his chest and his Adam's apple bobs.

_I ruined it already_.

To try and calm myself I trace the muscles of his arm with my index finger, thinking about how his arms always draw me in. Ever since those first awkward days sitting in his kitchen, watching him bake.

"What makes you say that?" I ask, guarding my voice.

"You can try to pretend I don't know you, Katniss, but I do." He waits for me to answer but I don't have one ready for him.

"Never mind. I don't want to know. I was so happy this morning and I'm going to stay happy for the next two weeks. Until…" he pauses, swallowing thickly. "I'm just going to live in that moment…when you said you loved me. I'll stay in it forever."

I've been on the verge of tears ever since the announcement, like a saturated sponge. The slightest nudge and I'd start to leak. This is a big nudge and I can feel the tears forming behind my eyes but I won't let them fall. I've done it too much and crying won't help anyone anymore.

"But that won't make you stronger, that won't help you in the arena," I whisper, again going back to the only way I know how to cope with our situation: training. Surviving.

_Hiding. _

"But it does," he says with a smile. "It gives me something to fight for," he says seriously, staring at me with such intensity I feel like he can see right to my soul. And the obviousness of it all hits me. The reason for his behavior these past two weeks. The retreating and the submission. He didn't think he was worth it; he didn't understand. He was questioning my feelings for him as I retreated into myself.

"I don't regret anything," I tell him, and on some level it's true, it's only a lie by omission. I regret everything, but not for the reasons he thinks, so I continue talking. "Everything I said, I meant. Everything I did, I meant too." I know I will have to explain myself, the real reason I'm filled with such regret. How it's a complete internal conflict. How it doesn't change the way I feel. But right now I simply can't.

Peeta looks relieved. Either that or he's decided it's not worth it to fight with me anymore about this. I'm not sure which I prefer.

"Maybe you're the one who regrets something, huh?" I ask, playfully but forced, hoping to lighten the mood. I trail my hand down his stomach and loop my fingers through the belt holes on his pants, not meeting his eyes.

I'm praying Peeta's hormones will distract him, bring him back to this morning and not to the emotional waterfall I always seem to be heading towards. Luckily, I win. His lips ghost my ear and I break out into goose bumps.

"That could not be farther from the truth," he whispers, hands inching under my t-shirt.

I remember now. I remember exactly why I let myself fall with him this morning, doing things I never thought I would do. _Ever_. It's simple and obvious in this moment, with his lips close to mine and his hands on my bare skin. So simple. Only when I let myself overanalyze my feelings does it become messy.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I don't know, we hear a knock. Our heads snap towards the door and we freeze.

"Katniss?" Prim asks.

Peeta glances at me and it takes me a few seconds to answer.

"Uh…yeah?" I squeak. I pale at the possibility that Prim or Mother heard Peeta and me this morning. I can't remember if we were loud. Hell, I couldn't remember my name at the time.

"Are you napping? Dinner is ready. Do you want me to go to Peeta's and get him?"

Speechless, I look to Peeta.

"Hey Prim. I'm here. Katniss was quizzing me on plants. We'll be down in a minute," Peeta says calmly, looking to me for confirmation. I let out a breath and nod.

"Okay," Prim answers and I hear her go back down the stairs.

Peeta gets up and finds his shirt on the floor. When he looks at me I see a variety of emotions playing in his eyes. I walk over to him and kiss him softly.

"I love you. Fight for that," I whisper despite my fears, hoping those words will give him the strength he needs to come back to me. To give me the strength to accept how I feel without regret.

* * *

The days pass. I continue my archery lessons with Peeta and he's actually not that bad, a lot better than I thought he would be. Obviously he's not as good as Gale or me but he has the potential to be decent. He laughed when I told him that.

He's gotten faster and stronger in the short amount of time we've been training, learning how to maneuver himself on his artificial leg. He claims it doesn't hurt as much but every night I insist on massaging it, secretly cherishing the moment because I'm not sure how many more there will be.

He still bakes every morning and he insists on bringing the loaves of bread down to the Hob himself. I've started to hold my head higher when I walk with him even though the looks people give him break my heart. Peeta pretends not to notice.

We kiss more. I've been more open with my affection for him even though it scares me for the same reason saying those three words scare me. I kissed him in the Hob once. It was only a quick peck on the lips but the stupid grin he had on his face for the rest of the day made it seem like something else completely.

We haven't done anything too scandalous since that one morning. I stand strong with my desire for him to become more adept at survival skills. I pretend I'd much rather him exercise and study than fool around with me. I don't think he believes me, though, because when we're alone in the dark things get heated fast. His hands wander, but never too far. I honestly think he's just happy I've allowed this much, like he's living some sort of dream and doesn't want to wake up—accepting whatever love I will give him at this point. His nightmares even seem to have gotten better. He sleeps more, not enough, but more than before and that, in and of itself, is something for me to hold onto.

A few days before the Reaping, Peeta and I are looking through my father's book of plants. It's what Prim and Mother have been using to tutor Peeta and Mother had let us bring it to his house tonight. She is very protective of that book so I know that when she offered it to us, the action was more complicated than she let on.

The book sits next to me on the couch and Peeta's head is in my lap. It's moments like these where I can almost forget where we'll be in only a few days. His eyes are closed and I'm playing with his hair, scratching his scalp softly as I ask him questions.

"Tell me about Poison Ivy," I say, fingers tangling in the blonde strands.

"Poison Ivy is native to 12 and could possibly be found in a variety of other Districts due to its resilient nature," he recites. "It's green and can be characterized by its clusters of three leaflets. The leaflets grow on their own stems and are attached to one main vine. Don't touch the vine, it's very poisonous. Don't touch Poison Ivy at all. Itches lead to rashes which leads to infection." I watch his lips form the words and when I'm satisfied with his answer I kiss them.

"Very good," I say against his mouth.

We break apart when we hear a knock at the door and we look at each other, confused. The only people who come to Peeta's house are Mother and Prim and we've already said goodnight to them.

Peeta leaves me on the couch and goes to open the door. I hear a quiet exchange before Peeta comes back into the living room followed closely by Gale. I'm pretty sure the surprise on my face is evident. I haven't seen Gale since the announcement.

I guess I should be happy to see him but I'm more wary than anything. The only times he's sought me out was to talk about the rebellion and I don't care for that news. I don't care for the rebellion at all. I see the tapping fingers in the Hob and around the mines, the number growing with each passing day. I know that there is a bigger picture that needs my attention. Gale has insisted multiple times, before and after my Games, that the Capitol's tyranny needs to end. That the rebellion is good. Necessary. I agree. Of course I agree. I sparked it, didn't I? But right now, all I can see of this rebellion is how much pain it's caused. I tried to calm it but it spiraled and I failed. The rebellion equates to failure in my eyes. My failure. I failed to keep those that I love safe.

Gale doesn't look shocked to see me at Peeta's house at this hour and I'm not sure what to think of it. At this point, Mother knows I sleep here. I briefly wonder if it upsets her. I'm only sixteen, after all. I might be setting a bad example for Prim and for a second I feel guilty. Maybe that's how Gale found out about us. Prim may have told Rory about our sleepovers.

I can't bring myself to care that much. I can't really seem to care about anything other than Peeta lately and that nasty regret that I harbor burns hot in my mind.

"I wanted to show Peeta how to set up some snares…might come in handy," Gale explains quietly. It's the first time he's said Peeta's name, not referred to him as 'baker boy' or 'Mellark' or, simply, '_him_.' I glance back at Peeta who seems equally confused about the situation.

An "oh," is all I can muster and I watch from the couch as Gale starts to diagram a snare at the kitchen table. I get up and walk over to the two of them. It's so strange to see them working together, Gale's patient explanations and Peeta's attentive note taking. I've kept them so separate in my mind that seeing them together is almost surreal.

"I'm going to see Haymitch," I announce. Gale shrugs and Peeta looks surprised. He's wanted me to go to Haymitch for weeks now and I've always shrugged him away explaining that Haymitch is a useless drunk. But Gale's appearance has spurred a renewed hope inside of me. If Gale, someone I never expected to be of any help to Peeta, can prove useful, maybe Haymitch can as well.

* * *

Haymitch's lights are off, which isn't surprising. It's late at night and Haymitch's lights are rarely on to begin with, even during the day. I don't knock on the door and I find Haymitch sitting upright on his dirty couch.

"Don't you knock?" he asks, peeved. "What if I was having company?"

I'm too shocked to make any sort of witty comeback. I truly expected him to be unconscious and covered in vomit.

"You're not drunk?" I ask. Haymitch laughs bitterly.

"I'm only a little drunk," he mutters, picking at his fingernails. "Drinking doesn't help my thinking."

"What do you mean?" I push.

"I've been thinking about the same thing you've been thinking about, sweetheart."

I'm silent, unsure of how to react. I honestly thought Haymitch would have drunken himself into a stupor to deal with the announcement. It didn't even cross my mind that he may have been trying to help. Of course that's the reason I came here, to see if Haymitch had any words of wisdom about the Quell. I was so focused on not wasting any time training Peeta like a Career that I hadn't really even thought about Haymitch being of any help until Gale came. I realize my mistake.

Haymitch lies back on the couch and takes a swig from a bottle I hadn't noticed before.

"I wondered why it took you so long to come over here," he says. I frown but don't respond, waiting for him to continue.

"It's unfair," he croaks. It's not the direction I thought he would take and my hands start to shake but he continues on.

"You know, I tried to get _you_ out of the arena last time. It's a miracle, that rule change. As a Mentor, you can't save both kids. You just can't. You need to choose one," he explains as if he's trying to convince himself he did the right thing. "You were tough. You could make it. He was a goner. In more ways than one."

Haymitch essentially choosing me over Peeta is not new information but being reminded of it doesn't help, especially at a time like this. It just another addition to the list of injustices that Peeta's experienced. I've become an obstacle in his survival since the day he was Reaped.

"And now he's a goner again," he says. "And there isn't anything we can do about it sweetheart, trust me, I've thought about it."

I blanche. I'm used to Haymitch's pessimism but the fact that he's tried to remain sober enough to think of a way to get Peeta out and failed to come up with an idea is like a kick to the head. I've refused to think of what will happen if Peeta doesn't make it. I've refused because it's hard and I hide from what scares me. _  
_

"You've thought about it, though," I prompt, ignoring my panic, the way my heart is beating and my palms are sweating. "You've tried to think of a plan?"

Haymitch studies me silently. He seems very old in this moment. Thin, greasy hair and saggy, dull skin. His expression is both exhausted and haunted.

"I know you think it's your fault, and I guess on some level it is," he says, not answering my questions. "But him being picked this time around? That was his fault."

My eyebrows knit together in confusion. How on earth is this Peeta's fault? Haymitch sees my look of doubt and stares at me hard before he continues speaking.

"You changed for them. You did everything you were supposed to do. You turned into a girl who was stupid with love for that boy."

I'm about to protest when he silences me with a flick of his wrist.

"You may not have meant to do it, but it happened. Everyone knows how you feel about him, sweetheart. It's no secret. You're a shitty liar and a terrible actress."

Like a blow to the chest I'm brought back to Snow's office at the Capitol Victory Party all those weeks ago.

"_You're a terrible actress and yet I believe you."_

I can almost see Snow's obscene grin leering at me from his spot behind the desk. I feel faint and sit down in the closest chair.

"_It's funny how that works, isn't it? Love is a funny, fickle thing." _

I might be sick. President Snow knew I was in love with Peeta before I did. Before Peeta did. I passed his test with flying colors because I became exactly what he wanted without knowing it. Haymitch must see me starting to understand because he barks out a laugh.

"Yup. You did it. You were the puppet. The boy is the one who can't be changed. While you were busy falling in love with him, he was busy starting fires all over the Districts. That speech in 11 was just the start," he says and I think back to our first stop on the Tour. The offering of our winnings, talking about Thresh and Rue like they were dear friends and not just Tributes. The gunshots. Peeta caused that. I helped but I guess he was the one who really triggered it.

"But that interview with Caesar at the end? That blew the cap off. Made the Capitol seem evil. Truly evil, for ripping you away from him. He's the real danger to everyone," Haymitch explains, turning to watch the shadows dance across the walls.

I guess it all makes sense now, in some sick sort of way. I may have sparked the rebellion with my stint with the berries but Peeta's honesty and goodness kept it going. He just kept adding fuel to the fire.

"Peeta was picked because he won't play by their rules," I say, speaking for the first time in a while. I'm oddly detached in this moment, which is probably why I haven't started crying or hyperventilating. I think back to the time before our first Games when Peeta was so worried about the Capitol changing him.

"_I refuse to be a piece in their Games,"_ he had said. I thought it was a silly thing to worry about at the time.

"He can't," Haymitch continues. "Doesn't know how. He doesn't realize he's doing it."

It's a lot to accept and I'm still grappling with everything when Haymitch speaks again.

"He'll die in there."

I look up at him. He stares back at me unflinching and I want to scream, to throw something, but I'm glued to the spot.

"That's why nothing I do will help. You training him may keep him alive a while longer but he's got a giant red marker on his back."

Haymitch pauses, making sure I'm hearing exactly what he's saying. "And I think they're hoping his death will be the end of you too, sweetheart. Not your life, maybe, but your spirit. Kill two birds with one stone."

* * *

I walk back to Peeta's house in a daze and see Gale exiting the front door. We stare at each other a few moments. I'm too shaken by my discussion with Haymitch to say anything of value to Gale so I just stare. The slight hope I had earlier, that maybe it isn't all lost, doesn't exist in me anymore.

"Thank you, Gale," I say softly. Gale sighs and buttons his jacket. It must be cold but I can't feel anything. I'm numb.

"I can be a good guy, you know," he answers.

"That's why you came?" I ask, unconvinced. Gale _is_ a good person, I know that. That's how I learned to trust him all those years ago in the woods. But he's barely spoken to me since our fight months ago and he is busy working extra hours in the mines trying to feed his family. Not to mention, spearheading the rebellion in District 12. But he hates Peeta.

I want Gale to tell me that the reason he's helping Peeta is because he has a chance at survival. That it's not a lost cause. I want him to give me hope again.

"Because I love you," he answers back. "And you love him. I just wanted to help."

I watch him walk away, the snow beginning to fall, before I walk back into Peeta's house. I close the door behind me and turn around. Peeta is watching me silently and Haymitch's words are glowing, hot and shiny, in my mind. _He'll die in there._

"How'd it go?" I ask him in a voice that doesn't seem like my own.

"Good. Gale's a good guy," he responds, eyes trained on mine. All I have the strength for is a nod.

"How is Haymitch?" he asks and I can't answer him. I can't meet his eyes because I'm not sure what I'll find there. Instead I stare at his hands, trying to find comfort in just looking at them.

"I've talked to him, too, you know," he says.

Of course he did. It all fits together like a perfect puzzle: Peeta's hopelessness, his attempts to convince me he won't come back. My eyes are surprisingly dry. I feel hollow.

"I know everything he's probably told you. It's why I've been trying to talk to you for so long," Peeta continues. I can't move, knowing that if I do I'll just run away.

"It's not your fault," he says.

He walks over to where I am at the door and rests his hands on my cheeks. Finally, I look into his eyes. They're blazing.

"It's not," he repeats and then he's kissing me, forcefully, like he's persuading me to believe him with his lips. And I kiss him back, pouring everything I can't find words for into it. This is the only thing that can comfort me now. His words won't work but this might.

He keeps me restrained against the door, pressing his body against mine and I sigh into his mouth. Why is it in times like these I realized I've missed the feel of him against me? I know I'll regret this, like I regret all our kisses, in a few hours but I can't stop.

His hands go under my shirt and straight to my chest. He's never been this straightforward, always hesitating on my stomach or flat out waiting for me to move his hands upwards.

I respond by moving to kiss his neck, appreciating the saltiness of his skin on my tongue. I want to forget that my conversation with Haymitch ever happened. I want to forget what's going to happen in a few days. Just let me forget everything.

Peeta is trying to figure out how to remove my bra from this position against the door but stops when I whisper in his ear.

"Upstairs."

He grabs me from behind the knees and hauls me up the stairs, two at a time, periodically placing hasty kisses on my lips. He kicks the door to his bedroom open and flops us down on the bed. Peeta pulls away to look at me but I can't face him so I peel off his shirt and attack his chest with my mouth, wanting to kiss him there ever since I saw him lying in my bed that morning. I'm being sloppy and slightly rough but his hands are in my hair and he's making appreciative sounds so I continue.

It's not until I feel my shirt being lifted over my head do I stop what I'm doing and help Peeta with my bra. He's much gentler than me, flipping me over and starting at my throat, placing light kisses all over my shoulders. My hands find his hair and his nose traces my right breast. When his mouth covers my nipple I arch into him and lock my legs around his waist. He's hard.

His hands trail down to my pants and when I feel his fingers trying to unbutton them I jerk back and Peeta's hands fall away. He looks dumbstruck, like he's made a massive mistake. Before he can start apologizing I push on his chest until he's lying down.

"You first," I say and he just looks at me. I can almost see the gears turning in his head.

I unbutton his pants and slide them down his legs. They catch on his artificial one but only for a second. I look back up at Peeta and then down at his boxers. He's straining against them and when I feel him over his underwear he exhales sharply.

He wants to touch me—I can see that his fingers are twitching so I move to kiss him again. He pulls me on top of him and my legs straddle his stomach. Peeta kisses me wetly as he moves his hands over my breasts. The ache between my legs is growing but this time, I want to touch him before he touches me.

I pull away and start to remove his boxers but he grabs my wrist to stop me. He's struggling for words and I'm surprised that I'm the first to speak.

"I don't know what to do," I blurt out.

"You don't have to do anything," he responds earnestly. His eyes are bright and he's breathing heavily.

"I want to," I explain. "I want to touch you. Just…you need to show me what you like," I say, though it comes out as more of a whisper.

"Okay," he breathes. "Okay," he says again, as if to remind himself where he is, to center him in this moment.

I pull off his boxers and stare at him. I've never seen a naked man before. I would always leave the room when Mother and Prim had to deal with that kind of stuff. Even in our Games I refused to look at Peeta when he undressed so I could clean his clothes.

I can't look away now. He is as hard as a rock. Curious, I grip him in my hand and Peeta's head falls back. Worried that I did something wrong I take my hand away.

"Was that wrong? I'm sorry," I say, embarrassed, but he just grabs my hand and shakes his head.

"No," he says quickly. "No, that was perfect."

He guides my hand to him again and I grip him, to enthralled to be blushing. He puts his hand over mine and holds tightly. Slowly, he moves us up his length, breathing heavily into my ear. It sends tingles down my spine and straight to the area between my legs. There's a droplet of liquid coming out of his tip and he sweeps a finger over it, bringing the wetness down his length again. After a few experimental pulls, he takes his hand away from mine and starts to kiss my neck as I stroke him.

My hesitancy from before slips away. Clearly he's enjoying himself and that's what propels me to grip him harder and speed up my pace. That and the sounds he's making against my neck, too far gone to form coherent words. His kissing turns into panting and moaning and after a few minutes he stiffens, groaning out my name. I can feel him throb under my hands and he releases himself onto his stomach. Instead of fretting over what to do about it I decide to just kiss him.

It takes him a few seconds before he's kissing me back.

"That was amazing," he whispers. "You're amazing," I smile into his mouth and his hands move over my chest and down to my pants.

"Can I help you now?" he asks, eyes big and blue.

"You don't…I just wanted you to…"

Peeta stops me with his lips.

"I really want to touch you," he says and I just nod, because words at this point have escaped me. He eases down my pants and underwear and I close my eyes as Peeta begins to rub me. I try to kiss him but my muscles won't coordinate so I just pant loudly into his mouth. We're both naked and I can feel Peeta pressing against my thigh. He's hard again and I realize we're both very close to each other. One wrong movement and we could connect. I stiffen and pull away and Peeta, eyes so dark they're almost black, looks back at me. His hands remain where they are.

"Trust me, Katniss," he whispers and the way my name sounds as it leaves his lips, throaty and thick like hot steam, pushes me over the edge.

* * *

Afterwards, when we're both cleaned up and wearing our pajamas, my head resting on his chest, I begin to regret everything again. My mind is screaming at me, telling me just how hard it's going to be in a few days. My heart is in total disagreement, knowing it would have been difficult either way.

Peeta is lazily tracing shapes on my cheek with his finger, breathing deeply, on the verge of sleep.

"I love you, Katniss," he tells me quietly.

'And I love you,' I answer in my head, feigning sleep, the regret winning out for once. Every time we touch each other, each kiss we share, brings me a twinge of pain because I know I will crave them when he's gone. Tears burn behind my eyes. I'll miss him so much.

And I love him. Oh god, I love him so much. And it's not that surprising, now that I think of it. I've tried so hard to fight it, to fend it off, so _of course_ it would just fight it's way back with unparalleled force and hit me harder than I could have imagined.

* * *

_In my dream Peeta and I are in the forest from our Games. I am painting a large "X" on his face with the red paint from his studio. He's helping me. Twice he makes me change the shade of red because it's not bright enough. _

"_How will they see me?" he questions and I just nod in agreement. When I'm done I hear a cannon shot and look around in terror. _

"_Where did it come from?" I ask him, panicked, searching the surrounding area, but we're all alone. When I look to see why Peeta is so quiet I shriek. His face is chalk-white and there is a deep gash in his chest that's leaking blood at a fast rate. _

_He collapses and I fall to my knees, trying to stop the bleeding. _

"_Stay with me!" I shout at him, my hands fluttering uselessly around his now limp body. He's losing color and my hands and knees are covered in his blood._

"_Always," he answers faintly, his eyes losing focus. _

"_I mean it, Peeta!" I shout at him, angry now. How can he have let this happen? _

_The cannon shoots again and I scream and yell, not believing it's happened. I clutch Peeta's dead body to me until I feel a clawing at my shoulders. I turn around in surprise and the wolf mutts look at me curiously. I try to run away but it's not me they take. The wolf with Rue's eyes grabs Peeta's arm and drags him into the distance and before I know it, I'm alone._

I'm thrashing and my throat feels like it's on fire. I'm still in the woods, I'm sure of it. I'm still shouting Peeta's name, hands searching for the mutts, but the scenery begins to fade and I'm back in Peeta's room.

"I'm here," he says soothingly. "I'm here, you're okay." I quiet momentarily and twist my head to look at him. He's holding me and his face is close to mine. There is no red paint on it.

"I'm here," he says one more time before I burst into tears.

He's here. But for how long? My hands are trembling and I run them over his face: cheeks, nose, chin, lips. I try to commit them to memory. How long will he be here with me? Before the Capitol takes him away?

"You're here," I confirm, sobbing loudly, touching his face. "You're here."

"Shh, I'm here. I'm not…I'm still here," he says, his voice thick and breaking. Tears start to leak out of his eyes. They're fat and slow, the kind that escape when you try your hardest to hide them. I watch in both wonderment and dismay as they slide down his face. I've never seen him cry. And I made him do it.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, still sobbing, trying to wipe his tears away but they keep coming, harder and faster. His throat tightens with the effort to control himself.

"Me too," he says.


	14. Chapter 14

It's the day before the Reaping and instead of really letting myself think about it, I'm at my kitchen table, flipping through the tribute tapes I requested from Effie. Actually, I asked Prim to call because I knew that if I called Effie, I would either hang up or start to cry, both of which would yield nothing.

They didn't arrive until this morning. My plan is to analyze them with Peeta, to look at the strengths and weaknesses of all the chosen Victors and put together Peeta's offense and defense off of what we can deduce from these tapes. It's a lot to do in a day, which is why I forced Peeta up so early. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him pushing the eggs Mother made us around his plate.

"It's my birthday today," Peeta says. I stop chewing the piece of bread I stuffed in my mouth and look at him, completely dumbstruck.

"Oh, Peeta! Happy birthday!" Prim replies excitedly. "Katniss what are you doing for Peeta's birthday?" Prim looks at me expectantly and I swallow the piece of bread with difficulty because it's become somewhat lodged in my throat.

"I didn't know it was his birthday," I say, looking at Peeta. I can't decide if I should be angry or guilty. I try to remember if Peeta ever told me his birthday on the nights in the train during the Tour.

"That's because I didn't tell her," Peeta explains and looks at me with a sheepish half-smile.

"Oh, Katniss. You have to something for his birthday," Prim pleads with large doe eyes. It's obvious that Prim's method of coping with the announcement is to act overly supportive of Peeta in anything he does. I've been a horrible sister these past few weeks. I've been moody and weepy and completely distant, focusing all my attention on Peeta, which I know Prim understands but it still doesn't help me feel better. I can't help but feel that I haven't done enough for either of them, Prim or Peeta. Like I'm forgetting something important.

I look back to Peeta, who, encouraged by Prim, is grinning widely. Suddenly I'm very irritated, wondering why the hell he didn't tell me this. I'm trying to figure out a correct way to handle this new situation but I more or less end up stumbling over my words.

"But, we have the videos and…we need to strategize," I sputter, not sure of how to react or steer the conversation. Birthdays have always been a curse for me so I have difficulty being enthusiastic about them. "Why didn't you tell me?" I'm watching Peeta carefully and his smile disappears, replaced with a worrisome frown.

"Because I knew you would react the same way you're acting now," he says frustratedly. "Katniss, the Reaping's tomorrow. I've done the training for 4 weeks straight. I've listened to you. I've done everything you've told me to do. Today, I want…no, I _need_ to do what I want to do."

"Yeah, well what's that?" I snap back. I can imagine him baking more bread for the Hob all day and then falling asleep at the table waiting for one last loaf to come out of the oven. The day will be a complete waste.

"I have something planned," Peeta says quietly.

"You've been planning something?" I half shout, on the verge of becoming hysterical. He's been planning something, knowing he wouldn't be training today? On some level I know I'm being ridiculous. But I can't imagine not training today, knowing that he's leaving tomorrow. Every second counts, at this point.

Peeta, in an effort to cool my anger, places his hand on my cheek and forces me to look at him, something I've been avoiding because the power he has over me with that stare is too much.

"Please," he says softly, imploring me with those blue eyes and completely ignoring the fact that my Mother and Prim are in the room. "It's my last day."

I slump in my chair and look back at him. He's been so good about training, never complaining, despite the awful amount of things I've been making him do. And it _is_ his last day. I guess he deserves to spend it the way he wants, no matter how upset it makes me.

"You have to promise to watch the tribute tapes on the train, then. You have to—" I insist but he interrupts me.

"I will," he says quickly and when he sees the doubt in my eyes he repeats himself. "I will."

I stare up at him. He always repeats himself when he wants me to know he's telling the truth, when he wants to get his point across, so I know he will watch those tapes. But I can't help but feel slightly annoyed, in a desperate kind of way, knowing how I feel it's my responsibility to keep him alive.

"Okay," I respond and then he kisses me softly on the lips, a thank you. And even though my Mother and Prim are here, I don't pull away. Because it's his last day.

* * *

I have no idea what Peeta has planned because it's not like we can do much. It's freezing cold outside and the fencing that surrounds the District 12 border is turned on so we can't sneak into the woods, if that were even a possibility.

I stand in his kitchen as he gathers things from under cabinets and inside the refrigerator.

"Are we going on a picnic?" I ask sarcastically. I'm still not comfortable with the idea of completely throwing the day away and I'm acting like a brat but Peeta doesn't seem to care or notice.

"Sort of," he replies, not turning around and instead, focusing on the bits of food he's putting into a bag. I sigh and lean against the wall, waiting for him to take me wherever he has so secretly planned.

After Peeta has placed a variety of things into a bag, still a mystery because I was too busy moping to pay attention, he leads me upstairs and grabs a blanket from his bedroom before coming back to me in the hall.

"Good idea, it's cold," I deadpan.

"We're not going outside," he responds and he pulls down a hatch from the ceiling I hadn't noticed existed. A latter unfolds itself. "There's an attic up here. It's small but there's a giant window and you can see basically the whole District."

"Really?" I ask, forgetting my anger. Our houses in the Victor's Village are already so large compared to what I used to have that I didn't even think that maybe there was a third floor. Peeta gestures for me to climb up.

The attic is small. It's slightly drafty and filled with wooden beams but there is an enormous window, floor to sloped ceiling, and I go to look through it. The Victor's Village is situated on a hill, and from this third story vantage point we can see almost the entirety of District 12. I even spot the Hob and the entrance to the mines.

"When did you find out about this?" I ask, turning around. Peeta is setting the blanket down on the wooden floor.

"When we first moved in I noticed the third story window. So I went and found it," he answers simply. "You have one too, you know."

There _is_ a third story window in all of the houses in the Victor's Village but I hadn't really thought too much about them. I don't want to bring up my terrible observation skills, especially in light of his 'birthday' announcement, so instead I redirect the conversation.

"So what are you gonna do with me up here?" I ask, before realizing the double meaning. It wouldn't surprise me if Peeta tried to kiss me the entire day and I don't think I would stop him.

"Absolutely nothing," he says while sitting down on the blanket and leaning against one of the beams.

"What?" I ask. He gestures for me to come sit down with him and I begrudgingly do so.

"I want to do absolutely nothing with you today. Is that okay?" He asks. I look up at him and he's staring down at me. I can't place his expression. I sigh and I try to put myself in Peeta's shoes. If I were leaving tomorrow to go compete in my second Hunger Games, I don't think I would want to do anything today either. It's comical how quickly my anger evaporates.

"Okay," I confirm.

* * *

The day passes and Peeta and I talk about unimportant things. We stare out the giant window and watch the world go by. Our world, at least.

It reminds me of our time on the train during the Victory Tour. He tells me little stories of when he was younger and I try very hard not to cry. He's not bringing up anything traumatic but I can't help but think that this is it. This day is for certain; we are here. But the days following are not. And I don't know what to do about it.

"It happened really fast," Peeta murmurs.

I'm lying down, head in his lap, playing with his fingers. Peeta's free hand is tangled in my hair, which he somehow freed from its braid.

"What?" I ask. My mind is slow and wandering because of our late lunch. Peanut butter sandwiches, hot chocolate and cheese buns. It made me smile, the little, inconsequential things he remembers. My favorites, not his. I should have found time to make him Banana Bread.

"You and me," he clarifies. "I'm sorry it happened so fast." His tone has changed. Throughout the day he talked animatedly and it reminded me so much of the old Peeta that I think I smiled a few times. Now he's back to melancholy Peeta and my frown stays put.

I'm not sure what he means, though, so I switch my eyes from the window to look at his face. He's been fixed on me the whole time.

"What do you mean, 'you're sorry'," I whisper.

"Well I guess it didn't really happen that fast, for me at least. I've had a massive crush on you since I was five years old. And eleven years later..." he trails off. "It's just, it's been six months since I first met you, really _met_ you," he says, trailing a finger down my cheek. "It shouldn't be like this."

His words make me think about something that's completely slipped my mind. Our relationship _does_ seem rushed. I've only known Peeta, really known him, for six months? It doesn't seem possible. I've thought about him, in some way or another, ever since he threw me that bread.

"We're just so young," he almost whispers but the way his eyes look right now could suggest he's lived a thousand lives. He's right. It _shouldn't_ be like this and we _are_ so young. We shouldn't have to be having this discussion. This is what elderly couples talk about during their last days. Not teenagers. I can't figure out what to say back to him so I grab his hand and trace his fingers, biting the inside of my cheek.

"I dreamed of spending my whole life with you," he says wistfully, and my eyes shoot back to his. He's still watching me, almost as if he's scared that if he looks away, I'll disappear. "I wanted to marry you. One day."

I don't know how to respond to this. I've never wanted to marry anyone and, even during my time with Peeta, these few months, it never crossed my mind. I was preoccupied during the Victory Tour and then we arrived back to 12 but immediately started preparing for the Quarter Quell. Marriage seems such a stupid thing to think about when your life is on the line but I know by the way Peeta is looking at me it's very important.

But I don't want to marry anyone. At least I didn't. And now that Peeta says this, I start to rethink everything. Not completely, but enough to question my previous believes.

But marriage means children.

"Marriage means children," I say stupidly. Peeta looks out the window again and his hand moves back to my hair.

"I wanted children, too," he whispers. It's clear this is why he brought me up here. To talk to someone, confess things he maybe hasn't told anyone before. I don't let go of his hand but I can't look away from his face.

"Not now, obviously" he adds. "But later on. When I was older." The way he is talking in the past tense makes my heart twist in my chest but I'm too confused to do anything about it.

"I don't want children," I state because apparently I'm only one for declaratory remarks right now.

"Why?" Peeta asks, genuinely surprised. I almost get angry with him for asking me but then realize we've never talked about this together. Gale's the one I talked to about my fear of children and babies. Peeta should know, too.

"Because what if they were Reaped?" I barely whisper and Peeta looks down at me. His thumb brushes my lips and he seems to be in deep thought.

"I guess you're right," he says sadly. "But what if it were different? No Games? No Capitol?" he asks quietly. I wonder if there are recording devices up here but I'm not overly concerned. After all, who would climb the wobbly drop down ladder into this drafty, unfurnished area?

"But it's not different," I respond stubbornly. Peeta's eyes don't leave my face.

"It can be," he responds so quietly I almost don't hear him. He doesn't say anything for a while but I stare at him anyway. "You'd be a great mother."

At this, I snort. I have no idea how to act around babies and pregnant women make me uneasy.

"I highly doubt that," I say.

"You've been a mother to Prim," he says softly. I stare up at him and swallow the lump in my throat. I refuse to think about myself as a mother because it scares me too much. Instead I think about Peeta as a father.

"You will be a great father, Peeta," I say, emphasizes the future. And he will be. I can see him spoiling his beautiful little blonde children with cookies, teaching them how to paint. Patient and kind. I can feel the tears slide down my cheeks. He deserves that and I wonder why the hell I'm with him. Why the hell he's the one going. It should be me.

"You're the only person I wanted to marry. There was no one else for me," he says. It's like he's speaking in unconnected sentences, not really taking into account my way of diverting the conversation. He needs to say these things to me.

I close my eyes and will the tears to stop. Peeta would be an amazing father and an incredible husband. Any girl would be lucky to have him. I struggle to find something to say but come up empty. He's the only one for me, too. There won't be anyone else because Peeta and I are far too intertwined. I'm not scared of the commitment but I can't marry him.

"This has been the best six months of my life," Peeta says quietly.

"It can be more," I urge, suddenly sitting up, angry that he keeps talking about the future as if there isn't one. And suddenly, I want a future with Peeta. Not marriage or children but a future because I can't think of one without him. "You can come back, I don't understand why you keep talking like you can't. I don't understand why you've already given up!"

I've tried not to think about it that much because I've been so immersed in training. I was so focused on getting him back to me that I didn't really think about what would happen after I had him. I want more days like this, sitting around and doing nothing. I want everyday to be like this. We can deal with marriage and children later, just as long as he comes back.

"Think about it Katniss," Peeta says, hands cupping my face, pleading me with those big, blue eyes. It's what he's been trying to do, little by little, this past month. He's been trying to make me accept the fact that he won't come back.

"I _have_ thought about it. About what Haymitch said and about what you keep telling me." My words are angry but desperate. "And that idea doesn't scare me, Peeta, because I've dealt with fear and impossible odds before. Remember?"

He's staring at me, brow furrowed, searching for a logical retort but he can't seem to find one.

"What scares me is that you've give up," I continue, more softly and I don't realize how sad I've become. He's the rock. He's the optimistic, positive one. I've tried to be that person and failed.

"Because for me, you have always been the hope that keeps me going. The bread from when we were kids. The dandelion. The…"I trail off, realizing I haven't explained those things to him. Not really. Not their importance. Peeta doesn't question my words, no matter how nonsensical they must be. He only gazes at me as I continue talking.

"Did you know that bread you threw me when we were little gave me the will to live?" I ask him. He's silent, mouth in a straight line. "That next day after school I looked over at you and you had this terrible welt on your cheek from where your mother hit you," I explain, touching the spot with my fingers and his eyes close briefly.

"I wanted to say something but chickened out. And when I looked down I saw this yellow dandelion. It shouldn't have been there, it was too early for them, too cold," I say, not looking at his eyes but instead at my fingers, where they remain on his now healed cheek. "But it was there anyway and that…it gave me hope. Because even if it seemed impossible it wasn't." I conclude, not really sure I made any sense, yet Peeta's hanging on every word. I meet his eyes again.

"You're letting me down," I say quietly, finally coming to terms with the way I feel towards him in this moment, these past few weeks. It's a completely unfair statement, I realize. It's selfish of me to blame him when he's in his current position. In fact, if the situation were reversed, I know I would be doing the same for him. But something inside of me knows that telling him the truth is what needs to be done.

I don't know what to say anymore and I'm tired of talking, my mind filled with marriage and babies and futures without Peeta. I move my hand away from his face but Peeta just shifts closer to me.

"I didn't know," he says. "I just…I wanted you to be prepared if…"

"If you die?" I ask bluntly because now I'm just sick of this. "How can I possibly be prepared? What would you do? If our places were switched? Would you be prepared if I died?"

This silences him and I can see him start to understand.

"I didn't know that. About the dandelion," he says quietly, changing subjects.

It so _Peeta_ to be able to sum up my complicated mess of feelings in that one word. Dandelion. It's part of why I love him. But then my traitor mind shuttles me in a direction I've been avoiding. A life where Peeta doesn't survive. I think about his stupid way to simplify everything with one word and how I'll miss it. Terribly. The tears burn behind my eyes and Peeta runs his thumb underneath them. I grab onto his hand and rest my forehead against his, noses touching. His breath on my face is comforting and I inhale his smell: sugar-vanilla-Peeta.

"Just…" I whisper. I'm grasping at straws now and I don't care. "Please promise me you'll try to come back home." If he can't promise his return, at least he can promise to try. I think I'm crying again but that's all I really ever do when Peeta and I have these discussions, with tomorrow's Reaping looming heavily over us.

"Please," I ask him, voice watery. "You have to promise you won't give up."

I'm leaning heavily into him now, my strength all but gone. I've tried everything. My hand travels down his chest and splays across his heart, feeling the steady beat underneath my fingers. I feel awful that I don't want to marry him. Spend my life with him? Any alternative doesn't seem right. But marriage is still something my stubborn mind won't look past. I can't. And I hate it because it would make him so happy.

_It happened really fast._

Maybe if we had more time, I would be able to give him more. But tomorrow barreled toward us far to quickly and I'm left feeling like I failed him.

"I promise," he breathes and I pull back to look at him. He hasn't promised me anything since the announcement, never wanting to break the trust we rely so heavily upon. This promise means something.

"I promise," he repeats and I know he means it. I move to kiss him but he stops me.

"You need to promise me something, then," he says, grabbing my hand. "If I die…" I begin to speak but he silences me with a finger to my lips. "If I die, you need to keep living."

I stare at him and I can feel my face falling. I know when he says 'living' he doesn't mean 'staying alive.' He wants me to move on. Peeta pulls me close and I can feel his breathe in my ear, deadly quiet.

"Don't let me die in vain. If there is a rebellion, Katniss, follow it through. Make my life worth something."

_It's worth everything_, I want to say.

I'm brought back to Haymitch's living room.

_And I think they're hoping his death will be the end of you too, sweetheart. Not your life, maybe, but your spirit. Kill two birds with one stone. _

I know above all things that I can't let Snow win. And if Peeta dies, and Snow expects me to 'die' along with him, by principle alone I won't. I will fight until Snow is all but a bloody pulp on the ground and the Capitol is brought down to ashes. But after that is done, I'm not sure I'd be able to fight for anything else. I respond anyway.

"I promise."

* * *

We didn't leave the attic until after sun set. I know it's his favorite time and he held me close as we watched the sun disappear behind the mountains in the distance. We never recovered the casual air of conversation from before.

Peeta explained that he needed to see his family before tomorrow and at this point, I think I understand as much as his relationship with them that I ever will. He's explained it to me once before, months ago after my first terrible nightmare. His new, precarious relationship with his family. It's too late to question it further and I'm positive that doing so will only upset him.

I shower quickly and hesitate at my dresser before I go to his house. I slip the blue sea glass into the pocket of my pants and head over. I don't knock on his front door and don't even call out to him once I arrive. I walk straight up to his bedroom. The shower is running so I sit on the edge of his bed and wait for him to come out. When he does he's wearing boxer shorts and his hair is soaking wet.

He's surprised to see me here so soon, obviously, and almost slips on the bathroom tiles.

"Make yourself at home, I guess," he jokes. I try not to stare at his chest and stomach but it's painfully difficult. All the extra exercise I've made him do has clearly paid off; the muscles of his stomach are hard and prominent and my fingers itch to touch them.

"Keep staring and you'll make me blush," he jokes again so I turn up to look at him. His eyes are sadder than his joking tone lets on.

"I have something for you," I explain, pulling the sea glass from my pocket and standing up to meet him. He stares at the glass in my hand before responding.

"I gave that to you. Are you re-gifting?" Peeta asks, slightly more hurt than his tone lets on.

"You can have a token in the arena," I explain, looking up into his eyes. "I want you to take this." I hold out the sea glass in my palm and Peeta's hand covers my own, clasps it, really.

"No," he says. I start to ask 'why' but Peeta cuts me off. "I want you to have it, it was a gift," he asserts with more force than necessary. I'm surprised by his sudden vigor and I meet his eyes again. "You need to keep this."

"Why?" I ask.

"I need you to have something that reminds you of me," he says in a rushed whisper and he closes his eyes. "Just in case."

I swallow thickly.

"But what will you have to remind you of me?" I ask, voice shaky.

"Everything," he responds with heartbreaking honesty. "Everything reminds me of you. You're all I have."

And it's these. These little things he says that have the ability to knock me to my knees. The back of my throat burns with the effort to keep my tears at bay but it's no use.

"Please don't cry," he says, voice small and I try to obey his request but fail miserably.

"How can I not?" I ask him truthfully, voice wavering on the edge. He doesn't seem to have an answer to that and I don't have anything else to offer so I kiss him. And then he's kissing me back. Peeta takes the sea glass from my hands and I hear him put it on the nightstand next to his bed but I'm too busy running my fingers over his stomach, memorizing the feel of it, hot and damp from his shower, trying to forget everything.

Peeta's kisses are deep and meaningful and I try to respond in the like but his hands are at the edge of my shirt.

"We should match," he says, breathing heavily, and I don't object when he pulls the shirt over my head. I didn't bother wearing a bra, knowing what would happen, what I want to happen. I didn't bother with underwear either. He doesn't know that.

His eyebrows go up at the sight of my chest and for a moment he just stares.

"You're beautiful," he tells me before kissing me again. "I never told you enough," he whispers against my lips. I pretend I don't notice his use of the past tense and kiss him back, feeling his hands move over my chest, teasing my nipples and I bite down on his lip slightly in response.

"You're…" I try to say. Beautiful? No—handsome? Amazing? I love you? My thought is lost when his mouth moves to my neck. His lips ghost over the skin of my throat and he sucks hard where my neck meets my shoulder. I rake my fingernails over his back and shoulders and he half hums, half groans into my skin before pulling away and staring at me.

I touch his face, not knowing what to say, but knowing I want to say so much.

_It happened really fast._

We weren't given enough time. All I want is more time.

I push him towards the bed instead. I don't really know what I'm doing when I start to pull off his boxers. They snag on his prosthetic again and for a moment I stare at it.

"Take it off," I demand but Peeta is lost in the moment, seemingly surprised I've already removed all of his clothes, and looks at me stupidly so I do it myself.

"No," he says but it's too late. "I don't—" he begins but I interrupt him.

"I want it just us tonight," I say and then start to kiss him again before he can stop me. I straddle his waist and get lost in our kisses again. Peeta's good with his tongue and as if to emphasize the point, he starts to lick his way down my neck and litter hot, wet kisses all over my breasts. I knot my fingers in his hair and sink lower into his lap, feeling him hard against me.

I sigh and he groans and I start to move over him. I think back to the first time this happened, on his couch after the Victory Tour party at Mayor Undersee's house. It hasn't been that long since then.

_It happened really fast_. _We weren't given enough time._

"Katniss," he says. Peeta's breathing is labored, face against my stomach now, and I grip his hair harder. At this point, I'm sure I'll get off by doing this alone but Peeta stills me. I look down at him and his eyes are clouded over with what I can really only guess is some sort of lust.

My pause gives him the opportunity to roll me over so he's hovering above me. He kisses me again and I lock my legs around his waist again.

"No," he says into my mouth and he unbuttons my paints and slides them off my legs but falters when he doesn't find underwear.

"Oh…" he breathes and pulls back, looks at me, eyes clearing, trying to rationalize like he always does. We're both naked.

"You…I really…" he stutters. "We don't have to do anything," he forces out. My hands are still in his hair so I untangle them and trace his cheek with my finger, thinking hard. Sex. It's something I've steered away from, always. But sex isn't nearly as scary as marriage or children, and considering I've been given the shot, children aren't possibility.

Sex isn't nearly as scary as losing Peeta.

"I swear, Katniss," he says, pulling away but I grip his shoulders, meet his eyes and will him not to move. We weren't given enough time. Or maybe I was using it up badly. Maybe I was doing the wrong things. If we had more time maybe we would have talked about sex and marriage and babies and I feel like I completely screwed up everything. I don't even understand why I'm nervous about sex with Peeta anymore.

I love him.

He loves me.

They gave me the shot.

I can't get pregnant.

I love him.

He loves me.

I won't have a baby.

It's impossible.

I love him.

He loves me.

"I love you," I tell him, still unmoving. We're locked in a strange embrace and we haven't moved for at least two solid minutes.

"And I love you," he responds. "But it's not worth the risk. I wouldn't know what to do it you got…if something…" he trails and I just stare back at him.

"They gave me a shot. It can't happen. For another two months," I whisper, eyes wide, unblinking. Peeta pulls back even more.

"You look terrified. I won't do that to you," he says softly, sadly, and finally pulling away completely.

"I'm terrified because I love you so damn much!" I say in a rush and he stills, surprised. "I'm scared I messed everything up! I don't know how to say 'goodbye' to you." On the last word my voice creaks like a rusty hinge.

Can't he see _this_ is my regret? This is my fear? That's why it will be so hard? That we might not have another time like this? That I've tried so hard to not love him that it just made me realize how much I do? And how much it doesn't make sense that I love him but I do? And that it's happened so fast, like he said, but it happened nonetheless?

I close my eyes and the tears come again but Peeta kisses them away this time, moving my tangled hair away from my face.

"I want this," I breathe. And then it hits me how stupid I was before for regretting the kissing and the 'I love you's. My regret would have been tenfold if I didn't share them with him. And I know that it will be even greater if I don't do this. I need to.

"I want you," I say.

Peeta pulls away and stares at me a long time. I'm no longer wide-eyed and scared but determined and Peeta must sense it.

"Are you sure?" he asks breathless. He wants this as much, if not more, than I do. I can feel him against my hip, hard. I nod and he moves over me again, kissing me deeply. I still don't understand how he can communicate so much with one kiss. I try but fear I can't. One of his hands remains knotted in my hair and the other, traces my breast, pulls my nipple, moves down between my legs, and rubs me gently.

All I can do is moan and arch my back. I reach down for him, fingers tracing his tip, before I grip him tightly. "I'm sure," I say into his ear and he huffs a loud breath.

He positions himself between my legs and pulls back, staring into my eyes, concern clouded over with want.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispers.

"You won't," I respond and I place my hands on his hips for emphasis, encouraging.

His eyes don't leave mine and I feel him at my entrance. I stop breathing, and focus on his eyes, the intense blue, as he pushes inside of me, slowly, until I gasp and he stills.

"I'm sorry," he breathes but I shake my head.

"No. Go," I exhale and the look in my eyes must push him on until he fills me completely. We're sweating and my legs lay limp at my sides, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Peeta's head drops to my chest.

"Oh God," he murmurs into my collarbone.

It doesn't hurt. At least not how I suspected it would. It's more of an overwhelming pressure and filling than anything else and the more I focus on him, the better if feels. Peeta rocks us slightly and the feeling is unlike anything I can really describe.

He moves slowly and the pressure starts to build. I nod and release a kind of throaty mewl. Peeta pants heavily into my collarbone and rocks again. I bring my legs around him and lock them around his waist because it seems like the right thing to do.

It's awkward and Peeta has to compensate for his bad leg but I don't care. Rocking becomes thrusting and once I get the hang of it, I move my body to meet his. This pleasure is so much more than any other, much more intense, and our thrusts become deeper with each passing second.

He's unable to form words and instead kisses me hard and sloppily. His arms brace my head and I really can't do anything more than grip his shoulders more and more tightly, nails digging into his skin.

"Peeta." His name leaves my lips without me really knowing when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. When he hears it, he makes a sound in the back of his throat. His lips move to my ear and he tries to speak.

"I'll…I'm going to…" he tried to warn. I don't get to hear what he was going to say because he stiffens inside of me, sighing something unintelligible into my ear, before he slumps over me.

I breathe heavily and with trembling hands, run my fingers through his still damp hair. His back is slick with sweat and I trace shapes onto the skin.

"I meant for it to be longer," he says apologetically. "You're just too much." And I actually laugh a little.

He peels himself off me and kisses me again. Hands moving straight down my body and between my legs, which is welcome because the throbbing ache is almost unbearable.

"I didn't make you…" he says sadly, before he starts to rub, and I cry out. His mouth finds mine and we share scattered, fevered kisses, his curling fingers inside me, until I spasm around them.

He lies heavily on top of me and I try to catch my breath. Weirdly, in this moment, I remembered I haven't told him.

"Happy Birthday."

At this he laughs. Loudly and happily. Like tomorrow isn't happening.

"Yes it is, thank you," he says smiling and I touch the corner of his mouth.

"Thank you," he says again. "For everything. I never told you but you're incredible. Really, you are." He closes his eyes and sighs, placing his head on my chest.

"I'm going to miss you so much," he says into my skin. I breathe deeply for a few moments.

"I want a future with you," I whisper, thinking about how I want to redeem myself for not wanting marriage. That just because I don't want to marry doesn't mean I don't want him. That we weren't given enough time.

Peeta releases a shaky breath.

"Well it's a good thing I promised to try," he says. He means it to come out more lightly than it does though, and the statement sits heavily around us.

We lie, pressed tightly together, and when Peeta thinks I'm asleep I feel him start to cry, his chest heaving silently. I feel my throat and chest become wet with tears and my arms move to hug him close, never letting go.

* * *

The light of the early morning is what wakes me and when I stir, Peeta's fingers find mine.

I turn to him and see that he's staring off into space.

"They'll be here soon," he says quietly and, as if on cue, I hear a loud knock on the door. I think back to how I should have locked the door behind me last night.

_We weren't given enough time_, I think again. The thought a bitter syrup that coats my throat. I'm still naked, so is he, and the room smells strongly of sex. I don't care. Peeta gets up, pulls his boxers on and tosses me my clothes, which I hastily put on.

Once I'm dressed, Peeta opens the door and his prep team walks in but stops immediately when they see me.

One woman, dressed in hot pink, begins to weep uncontrollably when she sees me sitting on the bed. Another man, with eerily pale skin, ushers her out of the room.

"I'm sorry, she's…we're all so…upset," the third woman finishes. She has short platinum hair and enormous lips. She looks shaken but continues on.

"Katniss, your prep team is at your house, we thought—" she says but I cut her off.

"I'm staying here." I can feel Peeta looking at me but my eyes don't leave this strange woman. "I'm staying here. If they want to dress me or do my hair, they're going to have to come here."

Peeta is silent and I grab his hand.

"I'm not leaving you yet," I whisper.

* * *

My stubbornness is something that no one anticipated so the styling proves to be difficult. I grasp Peeta's hand very tightly all throughout his transformation, which doesn't take long considering there isn't much for his prep team to do. Strangely, they don't put him a fancy suit, but instead a pair of khakis and a white shirt. I don't realize they're recreating our Reaping outfits from last year until Cinna dresses me in my mother's original blue dress, the one I thought I lost.

"Why?" I ask him, as Peeta sits in the corner and watches as my mother braids my hair intricately. Cinna doesn't say in response, just gives me a meaningful look.

There is a car waiting in the Victor's Village but Peeta says he wants to walk so I join him. There are no leaves in the trees and the sky is a dirty gray. Our feet make crunching sounds on the gravel and I can see my breath. Peeta glances at the mutt flowers, red and flourishing, and once we reach the main road he pulls me close.

"Just be a wall, now," he whispers. "Don't give them anything."

I search his eyes for a moment. The time for tears was yesterday. That was his 'goodbye'. That's what he 'wanted...no needed' to do. I will have to be emotionless now, no matter how upset I am. Even if my insides are boiling, my heart breaking, I can't let anyone see. He will do the same. He already is.

I nod in agreement and we walk, hand in hand, down the street, passing the dress shop, the florist, the bakery, and right before we reach the main square he pulls me toward him and hugs me hard and quick.

"I love you," he whispers into my ear. "Always." He pulls away too fast and I can't say it back because I don't trust my voice to not break and I don't trust my eyes to stay dry.

He leads me into the main square and we don't speak. I know there are things I want to tell him. I haven't said enough. But I must be a wall so instead I grip his hand and let him lead me to the stage.

It's cold and Haymitch is already there, dead sober. His eyes don't leave Peeta and we sit down together on an uncomfortable set of chairs, hands still clasped tightly together. I stare out into the crowd. There aren't any sections for the different age groups today because this Reaping is different. I know Prim and Mother are here, Gale too.

I only have eyes for Peeta.

His hair is brushed back and his jaw is set in a straight line. He's not smiling and his eyes are distant. I touch his cheek and he turns to me. I know his gaze. I wore it six months ago. He's emotionless. A brick wall. He won't give them anything.

And he's terrified.

I hear Effie's footsteps clacking down the hall of the Justice Building and she steps out in a whirl of color. Her hair isn't green any more; it's grey, streaked with blue. She goes straight to the podium and addresses everyone immediately. I'm thrown off by the urgency of it all.

"Welcome, District 12, to the Reaping for the Third Quarter Quell, the Seventy Fifth Hunger Games. As you all know, this year is quite special, as the Gamemakers have handpicked whom they will be sending to compete in this year's arena. It is an honor and a privilege, to be chosen," Effie's voice is strong and she pauses meaningfully in all the right places. Only Haymitch, Peeta and I have the ability to really detect that something is off about her. Her natural verve seems too forced.

"Only one remaining Victor will be Reaped," she continues, "and the Capitol has chosen the District 12 Victor to be Peeta Mellark. Please come forward, Peeta." Effie turns around and the look in her eyes is alarming because I've never seen it before in her: apologetic.

Peeta stands and walks forward, my hand left hovering in the hair from where he let go. I drag it back to my lap and train my eyes on him as he stands next to Effie.

"Let us all have a round of applause for Peeta Mellark," she says and I'm not surprised when she's met with silence. And I'm not surprised when District 12 lifts their three fingers to their mouths and then up in the air. It means thanks. It means admiration. It means 'goodbye' to someone you love.

And stand and do it too, but Peeta is taken by the arm and led directly into the Justice Building. Before he disappears he looks at me and I see his wall break for a second, the sadness leaking out. I almost stumble. The door slams and I look to Haymitch, then at Effie.

"There are no 'goodbyes' this time, Katniss. I'm sorry," she whispers before she follows after him. I stand there for a few seconds before I start to run in the direction of the train station.

_That can't be it_, I think as I sprint down the stage and through the crowds of people that fill the square. The cold air stings my lungs as I go and the shops in Town are a blur in my periphery. In the back of my mind, I'm glad I trained with Peeta or else I don't think I could make it to the train to see him.

And I do. Just in time because Peeta is getting out of the car and being prodded along by Peacekeepers straight towards the open door of the train.

"Peeta!" I shout but the sound is lost in the whirr of the engine so I run faster, until I'm only a few yards away.

"Peeta!" I shout again and he turns around, alarmed at the sound of my desperate voice. He looks shocked, then relieved. I push pass the surprised Peacekeepers and throw my arms around Peeta, burying my face into his neck, trying to catch my breath. He pulls back and holds my face in his hands, eyes burning.

"Remember your promise," he tells me.

"Remember yours," I respond and the Peacekeepers are pulling him towards the train door but I grab his arm.

"Miss, you're going to need to let go," says the larger of the two. He doesn't want to resort to violence. None of us do. I look around, panicked, and see that a small crowd has accumulated. I feel the pop and snap of photographs being taken.

"Katniss, go," Peeta whispers. I switch my eyes back to him and see his hardened expression.

_Just be a wall. Don't give them anything._

Screw them.

I launch myself forward and press my lips to his, one last time.

"I love you. Always," I whisper against them and then the Peacekeepers drag him away. My hands go searching after him but he's already at the train door and the larger Peacekeeper is holding me back. I try to look around him but only catch Peeta's shirt before the door closes behind him with a metallic clink.

I stand stock-still as the train begins to pull away and watch as he is taken away.


	15. Chapter 15

**Peeta**

I've spent the entire day watching the tapes and taking notes, just like I promised Katniss I would. Although if I'm being honest, I knew it would never help. All it's done is solidify my biggest weakness when it comes to these Games.

_I don't think I can kill them._

I've watched their interviews and the interviews of their family members. I've watched their original Reapings, when they were just frightened children walking up the stage to accept their deaths. _Wasn't that me six months ago? _

It's now when I wish I were like Katniss. She's so much better at this than I am: the emotional disconnect. Only until recently have I begun to accept why she does it. I've finally realized: it's too painful otherwise. I've tried my hand at it. I haven't spoken a word to anyone since getting on the train, too worried I'll break down, hoping that if I camouflage my feelings, I'll somehow trick myself into not feeling anything. It hasn't worked.

Now I am sitting here with Effie, watching the televised footage of yesterday's Reapings with tired eyes. She's taken my hand and I can tell it's her attempt at being supportive. Yesterday, when the train doors closed behind us Effie burst into tears and then ran to her compartment, teetering all the way on her wobbly high heels. She came out again at dinner and pretended like nothing had happened.

But I can't be mad at Effie. I know it's not her fault.

I dove into the Victor's tapes and I had gone through them fast. I didn't realize how few of us there will be.

_It will be a fast Games_, I had thought bitterly, but I sat on the couch in the train making notes, feeling like a stranger to myself the entire time. I don't enjoy pinpointing other people's flaws and using them to my advantage. But I did it anyway. For Katniss.

There are four tributes who I know will be my biggest competition and I pay particular attention to them as yesterday's Reapings air.

_District 1—Gloss._ He is large, blonde and the kind of handsome that the Capitol would love. But he's not particularly bright. His overarching cockiness is something that will be of value to me in the arena. _He will underestimate me easily_.

_District 2—Enobaria_. I remember her Games even though I couldn't have been more than 5 years old when they took place. They were the most gruesome I can recall and I had nightmares after watching them. Thinking back, I think she may have lost her mind completely in the arena: she ripped out another tribute's throat with her teeth. The act was so legendary that she altered them to resemble razor sharp fangs. I don't know if it was because she was proud or manipulated into doing so_. I need to stay away from her._

_District 4—Finnick Odair_. He will be the most difficult to kill. I already know he's an incredible fighter. He's clever. He's an actor. And I liked him, which makes it much, much worse. Watching him now, I don't understand how he manages the 100-watt smile or his calm manner of acceptance during his second Reaping.

"He may be too used to luxury, Peeta. That's where I think you'll have the advantage. You're not out of practice because you were just in the Games," Effie states matter-of-factly and I have to hide my snort. If she's trying to help, she failed. I watch Finnick wave to the members of District 4. I think back to our time in the Capitol and seeing him in Snow's mansion. Katniss said he was in support of the rebellion because he executed that strange hand gesture. I don't really see how something that could be considered fidgeting could be a signal of a brewing rebellion. But then again maybe that's the whole point. I watch his Reaping closely, looking for tapping fingers. I don't see anything.

_District 7—Johanna Mason_. I knew the second her name was called during the announcement four weeks ago that she would be trouble. Johanna Mason's games were the most surprising that I remember. She acted like a complete mess during the interview with Caesar, so much so that he spent almost the entire time trying to calm her. Once in the arena she hid from all the other tributes. No one paid attention to her because she didn't seem like someone they needed to worry about. I forgot she was even alive until the end. None of us knew how skilled she was with an axe or how vicious and determined she turned out to be. She reminds me of Katniss: stone-faced, expressionless. I try not to think of Katniss but it's impossible once District 12 comes into view.

Effie's grip on my hand seems vice-like. I don't want to watch it, knowing how painful it will be, but I'm not sure how many other times I'll be able to see Katniss' face so my eyes remain trained on the screen.

I look stoic. I am a brick wall, which is a real testament to my acting ability because on the inside I was crumbling. Katniss, on the other hand, looks overwhelmingly distressed. She's trying to rein it in, but she's always been an awful actress. During the Reaping, I remember trying very hard to not let her affect me. I've seen Katniss cry many times, and for the most part I've been able to comfort her without breaking down myself. But I knew that if she started crying then, I would have lost it completely.

I watch in silence as she runs through the town square, her face a picture of shock and determination, if the combination is even possible. I watch as she throws her arms around me and for a moment it's almost like I can feel her again, her warm breathe on my neck, her hair tickling my cheek. The soft material of her worn dress and the smell of her skin. I commit it to memory, wishing for the millionth time that I could draw feelings and smells.

The Peacekeepers start to pull me away but Katniss leaps forward and presses her lips to mine.

_Our last kiss_.

The cameras can't see what she whispered against my lips at the last moment and I'm glad because that memory is mine alone. _Mine_.

How many times did I dream about Katniss telling me she loves me? _Only practically every night since the moment you saw her when you were five years old, idiot._ Thinking about her has become an unconscious act. But now that I know what I'm leaving—she _loves_ me, finally she _loves_ me—it's so much worse. It's an unbearable ache. It's an invisible clawing at my heart. _It's so much worse._

When the television turns black again I leave Effie on the couch, having seen nothing and too heartsick to tell her goodnight.

* * *

I don't sleep.

I don't even realize how much time has passed until Effie knocks on my door, telling me we've arrived in the Capitol. I'm surprised when Portia doesn't give me something elaborate to wear. I know the second I walk off the train platform I will be hounded by photographers and all eyes will be on me. Shouldn't I be wearing something incredible? Some ridiculous suit with sparkles that 'do wonders for my eyes' or something equally as embarrassing? Instead, Portia hands me a pair of plain black pants and a simple, grey shirt. It's something I would wear at home and I feel the familiar dizzying pain that accompanies me whenever I let my mind wander.

_I miss home. I miss Katniss. I won't ever see them again, will I?_

"There are no sponsors this time, Peeta. Why be someone you're not? You've already made your impression," Portia says softly, answering my silent question as she combs my hair into place. She has the soft touch of a mother and that brings forth another wave of empty pain. _My mother was never this gentle._

How strange is it that this woman, whose job it is to dress me for a death match, has become the closest thing I have to a mother.

My mind flits back to what Portia said.

"_There are no sponsors this time."_

The lack of sponsors hasn't been something I thought about too much. I got through my first Games with barely any gifts from sponsors. I understand that Haymitch's plan was to get Katniss out of arena. It became my plan, too, so I can't blame him for it. There can only be one Victor and she's the one who stood the biggest chance at survival. But I know that if there were sponsors this time around, I would have had no problem in the arena. Maybe that's why they added the rule.

_They are going to make it absolutely impossible for me to survive. _

When I step off the train I'm bombarded by photographers and I move my hand to my side slightly out of habit, as if Katniss' hand is there waiting for me. I should blush out of embarrassment but I don't think I'm really capable of feeling anything right now in front of these strangers other than a dull sort of loathing. I know I shouldn't.

_They loved us. That's the danger. _

"Peeta! Look over here, Peeta!" I turn in the direction of the cameras and give a very weak smile. I don't really know how I should act right now. All other times I was met with the Capitol I was supposed to act in love with Katniss, which was incredibly easy because I _was_ in love with Katniss. I _am_ in love with Katniss. I'm so _in love_ with Katniss that it hurts.

I grind my teeth and allow two massive Peacekeepers to escort me to the Tribute Training Center and straight up to the 12th floor. The opening ceremony is tonight and Portia will be getting me ready. I can't help but think how rushed it seems. _They're really wasting no time, are they?_

I walk to my room in silence. The twelfth floor seems much larger and more menacing when it's just me. I sit on the bed and put my head in my hands, hoping in vain that if I press hard enough against my temple I'll shut out my thoughts. I have to consciously stop myself from thinking of Katniss. It feels like I'm drowning when I do. Like I'm desperately trying to stay afloat despite the current that pulls me down. I try not to suffocate in memories of her but it's hard not to. It's comfort and pain at the same time and I have no idea what to do about it. _It happened so fast._

I rake my fingers through my hair and pace the room, trying to clear my head. The tears burn behind my eyes and it's a familiar sensation. I've felt it almost straight through the past two days. I push them back and the lump in my throat that accompanies the action is almost welcome. How many times have I felt this way, with Katniss clinging to me, my shirt soaked with her tears? I'm fairly certain there are less than five people on the planet who have seen Katniss openly cry, excluding when she lost Rue. If she trusts me enough to comfort her, I wasn't about to go ahead and burst into tears as well.

Only Katniss isn't here now and I don't have to be strong for anyone.

I let myself cry.

Not the leaky-eyed weeping I tried to hide in District 12, but full-on body wracking sobs. I punch the wall but don't register the pain in my fingers. I throw a decorative bowl at the mirror, shattering it to pieces.

_Seven years bad luck_, I think with a sour smile. _It won't matter._

For the thousandth time I wonder what Katniss is doing right now. She'll be worried. She thinks I'm scared of going back, and I am, but I'm not scared of death. I got over that fear quickly during my first Hunger Games. Death is inevitable. No one can live forever. But I couldn't tell her that the reason for my drastic change in behavior the weeks before the Reaping wasn't because I was scared but because I was completely heartbroken.

That's why I didn't speak as much, didn't smile as much, couldn't find myself able to make her laugh as much. I was too heartbroken. Despite how much I tried to pull myself up and enjoy the little time I had with her, I couldn't because the pain of knowing I was just going to have to leave was too much. _I'm an idiot._

Her words flood over me as I cry and I sink to the floor, face flushed and wet in the most pathetic way.

_"How can I possibly be prepared? What would you do? If our places were switched? Would you be prepared if I died?"_

_"I'm terrified because I love you so damn much! I'm scared I messed everything up! I don't know how to say 'goodbye' to you."_

___"I'm in love with you Peeta. That's why you need to come back. To me."_

I never told her I loved her enough. I reacted oddly when she told me and I wish I could redo it. I would have told her how much I loved hearing her say it. I would have told her everything I love about her. _Every little thing_. But I didn't. Because my stomach dropped to my feet like a heavy stone and all I could think was "it was easier when you didn't." It was easier when she didn't love me and there was nothing waiting for me. And I'm so upset that I ever doubted her feelings towards me because they seem so obvious when I look back. I think I would do anything in the world to be with her again. Even if it's just one more night. One more _hour_.

But would I kill these people with families of their own? I don't know.

I'll have to try.

I close my eyes for a second and try to catch my breath. I'm tired, I realize, and that only brings on another set of infuriating tears. If I'm tired Katniss will be tired. Who will hold her when she can't sleep after I'm gone?

_Gale will_.

I cover my eyes with my arm and lie down in a pathetic heap on the floor. Katniss won't let him comfort her. If that were a remote possibility she would have gone to him the moment we arrived back in District 12 six months ago. She would have sought _him_ out.

But she sought _me_ out. And her loving me was for nothing, wasn't it? Katniss didn't want to be with me, she tried just about everything to fight it, yet she loved me anyway. It has to mean something. Gale will never be able to help her the way I can and it's not an arrogant statement, just a simple truth. He won't understand. He can't. Even if I made him promise to look after her when I'm gone, will it actually help her?

If the situation was switched, I don't think anyone else would be able to help me.

But would I kill these people with families of their own to get back to her? I don't know.

I'll have to try. Because I love her too much.

I know people think we've jumped the gun. That it's just puppy love, or an infatuation, and up until the first Reaping it _was_ that. For me, at least. But how can I explain to other people what we went through together? No one else will understand. _Ever_. Is it clichéd? Probably, but frankly I don't care what other people think. But if you survive a televised death match with the person you love, no matter how young you are, and then they die...

_I would shatter into pieces and blow away._

I take a deep, shuttering breath and think about my last few days in District 12. I made a lot of people promise me things before I left. Gale. Prim. Rye. Haymitch. _Katniss_. Hers is the most important.

It always comes back to her. It always has.

I lie on the floor and it takes me about half an hour to calm myself. I think of her smile. _That_ smile. Just her smile, nothing else, and it's enough to get me to stop crying. It's enough to make me feel slightly better.

_I think I've lost my mind._

My thought process swerves from "hopeless victim" to "ruthless warrior" to "lovesick teenager" every two hours and the constant motion is giving me a migraine. This needs to be simpler.

I take a series of deep breaths and think about my promise to Katniss. Hell, Prim even cornered me about it. Little Prim, with surprising control, demanding I make it back to her sister. It makes me smile, the look she had on her face. It reminded me of the way Katniss ordered me not to die during my first Games, even though my survival seemed so slim at the time. It's not that different is it? My survival now seems unlikely but maybe there is a chance.

I think back to Katniss and how she's changed so much. Her desperate pleas that day in the attic are what get me because I can only imagine what barriers she had to climb to verbalize them, what barriers she had to climb to let herself love me.

"_You're letting me down."_

When I think back on it now, the thought makes me want to vomit. I can't let her down. And then I remember the last thing she said to me before we fell asleep that last night.

_"I want a future with you."_

If anything she's said can give me the resolve to fight, it's those words. I have to _try_. And sitting here on the floor, crying like a pathetic baby, is not trying. I need to stop wallowing in the past and focus on the future, no matter how bleak it seems because maybe it can work. I want a future. A future where I can kiss Katniss until I can't breathe, where I can crush her to me, tell her in painstaking detail why I'm so hopelessly in love with her and show her how unbelievable happy I am that she feels the same. Because I _need_ a future with her. It's the only thing driving me forward at this point.

I get off the floor then, embarrassed with myself. I take a shower, regretting punching the wall. I study the purple swelling around my fingers and think I may have fractured a finger. Katniss would kill me if she knew.

I have a few hours to myself during the time before Portia is supposed to collect me and I spend it trying to decide how I should present myself to the public. I need a plan. I sit in the corner and I think back to my discussion with Haymitch during the Victory Tour. Where this whole mess started. I think about how I riled up the Districts with my speech and offerings to 11. About how I riled up the Capitol with my stupid love stories. I think back to the one time we spoke alone during the four weeks leading up to the Reaping.

I had been baking alone in my kitchen. _Typical behavior_.

It was during the time when Katniss and I rarely spoke, too caught up in our own issues to communicate properly. It was the day before she told me she loved me.

"_Do you ever stop?" _

_I jump at the voice, surprised Haymitch is out of his house. I haven't seen him since the announcement. He looks surprisingly sober, which throws me off and I'm so insulted he hasn't tried talking to me sooner that I almost ask him why he isn't obliterated. I thought Haymitch would have dealt with the announcement by drinking. _

"_Well the District still needs bread and as long as I'm here I might as well make some," I respond before turning back around. _

"_Jesus," he whispers. "You have no idea." _

"_What?" I ask, irritated. I feel Haymitch move in back of me and when he grabs me by the arm and pushes me in the direction of the stairs, I'm too surprised by his actions to resist. I go to the bathroom and turn on all the faucets without really giving it much thought. When I turn around Haymitch is closing the door behind him. _

"_It was gonna be you all along," he says. _

"_What do you mean?" _

"_You're the one they had to worry about," he elaborates, as if this sentence alone answers all my questions. It doesn't and now I'm pissed. Haymitch talking in code might be the thing that sets me off. _

"_Seriously Haymitch if you're going to stand here—"_

"_I'm sorry, kid," he says, and it looks like he really means it. I bring my hands up to my face and start rubbing my eyes. I don't know what to say back to him. I never know what to say back to people when they tell me how sorry they are. When it happens in the Hob, or in town, I just grimace. Katniss will grip my hand. It's always a silent exchange. _

"_You're too 'good'. You don't even realize it, which makes it so much worse for them," Haymitch continues, and I open my mouth to respond but just end up closing it. If I am so 'good' why did they decide to send me to my death again? _

"_You're the one they needed to get rid of. You were the one getting every one upset. Do you remember 11? And the interview with Caesar?" The blood seems to evaporate from my veins. I'd never really contemplated why I was the one who was chosen. I honestly thought it was going to be Katniss so when my name was pulled, it was relief, not anger, I felt. I thought it was some weird chance of luck on my part. Only after the initial shock wore off did I begin to understand what it meant. That I wouldn't see her again. _

"_I've tried, boy," Haymitch continues. "I've tried to…think of a way around this. I have." With that Haymitch sits down on the toilet seat and runs his hands over his face. "I should've realized…I should've been better." _

_I've never seen Haymitch sad before. Upset, yes. But sad? No. I don't like it. _

"_You were great. You saved us," I answer back. He shouldn't feel guilty about this. Just like Katniss shouldn't feel guilty about this. When Haymitch doesn't snap back a retort I know something is wrong. _

"_I'm not making it out, am I?" I whisper, my voice almost detached from my body. I've known it deep down since the moment my name was called but I think having Haymitch here more or less confirms it._

"_I'm sorry," Haymitch croaks again. "I just think…most of the Victors this year…they've been problematic. It wasn't a coincidence. I have no idea what to do for you. I don't know how to help." _

_I sink to the floor at this. I don't know what to do either. It's all a waste. Katniss training me, it won't work out. The grief that hits me at the realization is something I can't put into words. _

"_You'll look after her, right?" I ask. I can feel my voice breaking. If I won't make it out, I can at least make sure she will be safe. She's my only concern, really. Always has been. She's more family to me now than mine ever was; the only person who didn't look at me with disdain and pity. "When I'm gone, you'll make sure she…that she's alright." The words seem to get caught in my throat at different intervals and they come out a bit choked. Haymitch looks up at me and nods slightly. _

"_She is so in love with you it's ridiculous," he says. "She probably hasn't told you, or anyone, but holy shit it's leaking out of her ears." _

_Haymitch ponders his words for a minute and then starts to laugh. I stare at him for a few seconds and then, because the situation is so bleak, and Haymitch and I are sitting on my bathroom floor talking about love, I start to laugh until it's hard to breathe. Although I'm sure it sounds more like suffocated crying. _

_No, Katniss hadn't told me she loved me… but I know she does. She's a terrible actress and at this point, I would be able to tell if she were faking it, having experienced the fake before. I feel bad for it. She, who never wanted to fall in love, fell in love with the boy who is sent to die. What tragic irony. _

_Eventually Haymitch's laughing dies down and he stares at his fingers, mulling over what he is about to say. _

"_I think they're hoping that if you don't make it out of there, she'll be too broken to cause any more trouble," he says._

The memory hurts but it reminds me of something. I made her promise to fight, and I'm not doing it myself. _I'm a coward_.

It's then when I realize what I'll do. I know I promised her I would try my hardest to make it back, and I will. But if the Capitol is intent on getting rid of me, I'm going to help bring them down the only way I know how.

I'm not going to have an angle this time around. I've never had an angle, now that I think of it. Like always, I'm going to tell it like it is.

* * *

Portia and my prep team spend close to no time getting me ready. There is no synthetic fire this time. No shading done on my face to make me look older and more mature. I wear the same thing that I wore during the Reaping and this time, I understand why she's doing it this way.

It's obvious my prep team is trying to make a statement. My clothes, despite the fact that they were the best I owned before the Hunger Games, are worn and faded: hand me downs from my brothers. There's no doubt in my mind that the Capitol will be comparing the Victors' original Games and the one that is about to come. I've been dressed in basically the same clothes since leaving 12 and there's no way the Capitol, and certainly the Districts, can ignore it.

"_Why be someone you're not?"_

I'll be an exact replica of six months ago. I'm still just a boy from District 12 with terrible luck. Portia brushes my hair again, reminding me of the mother I never had, and before she can leave for the night I touch her hand, stopping her.

"Thank you, Portia. For letting me be myself one last time."

I see her amber eyes flicker slightly, betraying her true emotions, but she recovers quickly and looks back at me with a steely expression.

"You deserve it," she says before she leaves.

* * *

It seems that District 12 has the only stylist who thought to rebel in their choice of costume because I am the only one who is dressed in plain clothes. Even though I took no time getting ready, I am the last to arrive and when the other Tributes hear me enter the chariot tunnel, they stop and stare. Not sure what to do, I stare back.

They are more confused than anything, but I see understanding in a few of the Victors' faces. I see the Victor from 11, Chaff, give me a curt nod. He lost one of his arms during his Games and as a slight act of rebellion he refused a prosthetic. Chaff is the one who clued Haymitch in on the brewing rebellion in 11 and he is one of the Victors who I can understand why he's here.

I can feel eyes on me but I walk over to my chariot anyway and start to pet one of the horses, hoping that the awkward silence that filled the room once I arrived will dissipate quickly. I know that most of these Victors already know each other. I can tell by the way they're joking around, trying to make light of a despicable situation. Maybe my old self would join them, try to be friendly, but I don't really see the point. Gloss and Enobaria are chatting a few yards away, wearing costumes I'm sure are supposed to gain respect. It looks like Enobaria is wearing a dress made up of the teeth of different animals. I look away.

"Peeta."

I twist my neck in the direction of the voice and see a middle-aged woman smiling warmly at me.

_District 8—Cecelia_. I had trouble watching her second Reaping. Peacekeepers had to pry her away from her screaming children.

"Hi, Cecelia," I respond. "It's nice to meet you." I hold out my hand, for some reason unable to stay closed off, and she takes it lightly and smiles.

"I thought I would introduce myself. It's sort of like an exclusive club, here, isn't it? But you're new," she says. There's no amusement in her voice but I laugh anyway. _What a fun club to be a part of. _

"Yes. Brand new. Everybody's always wary of the new guy."

"They're all intimidated by you," she says quietly. "You're different than most of the Victors."

_I know_, I almost respond. _Look where's it gotten me_. I hear the anthem start to play and I look towards the opening of the tunnel. Gloss is stepping into his chariot.

"I think we're all more alike than we think," I respond truthfully and to my surprise, Cecelia brings her hand up to my face and touches my cheek.

"I hope my boys grow up to be like you," she barely whispers. I look down at her and the pain in her eyes is sharp but brief. She straightens the collar of my shirt, a habit surely, and pats my shoulder before walking away.

I take a deep breath, trying to clear my mind, and climb into my chariot.

I don't have Katniss' hand to hold onto this time so I clutch the sides of the chariot and my knuckles turn white. It hurts my bruised fingers but the pain I feel distracts me from Cecelia's words. I don't have much time to think before the horses start to pull me and before I know it, I'm shuttling through the open tunnel and into the square. The roar of the audience falters when I make my entrance, but not by much. Surely they are surprised by my costume. I look up into the crowds, a faceless mass, wondering where the cameras are. _Katniss is watching this_.

I let the emotion play on my face this time, knowing the more the Capitol and Districts see of my true feelings, the more jarring it will be. I turn my head and see myself displayed on the enormous screens surrounding the square. I look kind of pathetic in my worn clothes but I'm sure that's the point. I feel something hit me lightly on the head and it falls to my feet in the chariot box.

A rose.

I remember how Katniss would sometimes scream nonsense about roses during her nightmares. After she woke up, as her heart rate slowed and her breathing calmed, I would hold her to me and always wonder what it was about roses that got to her.

I bring my foot down and crush it. _I don't like roses either._

The chariots slow and I make my last loop around the square. I stare up into the crowds, wondering how the citizens of the Capitol are handling this. The Games are six months early and there are only 12 Tributes. They've grown to love them all, in some way or another. Will they be upset when we die? Or will they be easily distracted by something else when we're gone?

"Welcome, citizens of the Capitol. Welcome, Panem."

The chariots stop and I look up into the President's box. Snow is standing at a podium high above us, smiling out into the crowd. He looks small when he's so far away. Puny, even. The Peacekeepers that flank him seem to be twice his size.

"Welcome Tributes, Victors in your own right," he continues and I stare at him, willing him to meet my eyes. He doesn't. _Coward_.

"We gather here tonight to celebrate the start of the 75th Hunger Games: The Third Quarter Quell."

I half-listen as he goes into detail about the importance of the Games and the history of the Quell. I've heard it before. He claims that the twist in each Quell was created before the start of even the very first Hunger Games but I have trouble believing this particular Quell was created years in advance. It must have been created just months ago. It's far too specific.

"This year, one surviving Victor from each of the Districts has been chosen by the Gamemakers. The chosen Tribute will demonstrate his or her skills in this year's arena without the help of Mentors or sponsors," Snow says, his voice reverberating around the square. I glance at the screens and see that a small smile graces his grotesque and puffy lips. He doesn't explain the rule. _Again, coward._

I listen carefully to the rest of his speech, my eyes not leaving his form, and he goes on about how exciting this years' games will be with only 12 Tributes. How the arena will be as fantastic as ever. He doesn't talk about why these particular Victors were chosen and all I can think of is how cowardly he is, hiding behind manipulation and lies in his lush Capitol mansion.

Right before he leaves the podium and the opening ceremony is brought to an end he looks at me. It's hard to tell because he's so far away, but I can feel his gaze. It makes the hair on my arms stand up and my skin grow cold. I hate him. I hate him so much and I may as well be screaming it at him because I'm sure the look on my face communicates my true feelings clearly. I wonder if the screens are on me now but I'm too enraged to look.

The horses carry us back into the tunnel and I clench my fists, suddenly furious at everyone and everything. I step off my chariot and my prosthetic leg almost buckles at the force with which I move.

"Nice outfit, 12." I turn around to see that Johanna Mason has jumped off her chariot as well. Johanna is small with short brown hair and she's assessing me with large brown eyes. "I didn't get to tell you before the opening ceremony." She walks over to me and leans against my chariot, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's not as…stemmed in nature as yours is but I'm happy with it," I respond, my anger only slightly dying. Johanna is from District 7—lumber. It seems her stylists took the safe route and dressed her like the trees from her district. Her dress is brown and tight, the top of which is decorated in short green things I presume are supposed to resemble pine needles. She's wearing a green crown and brown, leather slippers. She would look pretty if it weren't for the glare that covers her face. She didn't like my comment.

"My stylists are a bunch of idiots," Johanna huffs. "They've been dressing us up like trees for years. I wish I had a team like yours. The dresses they put Katniss in? Seemed she had everyone eating out of the palm of her hand during the Victory Tour. She looks like a total bitch if you ask me, though," Johanna says while picking at her fingernails. She glances up at me and then smirks. "No offense."

_She's not a bitch!_ I want to shout but I bite my tongue and smile at her, instead, choosing to ignore the comment completely and Johanna keeps running her mouth.

"It's too bad they didn't dress you up in something like Finnick over there. I'm sure we'd all love to see what exactly you've got going on under there," she says with a raised eyebrow, gesturing towards me with, what I'm guessing is, a seductive grin. Her comment about Finnick bothers me. I remember the long-ago threat Snow used against Katniss: prostituting me out to the people of the Capitol to make her cooperate. I can feel my face heat up out of anger and guilt but Johanna mistakes it for a blush and laughs.

"Finnick! Twelve over here is jealous of your costume," she shouts, making everyone turn to look in my direction. My face burns again and I watch Finnick saunter over. All he's wearing is a loosely tied fishing net, the knot strategically placed over his groin. It seems that he's been sprayed a sort of golden color and it makes his green eyes even more piercing than they are. He looks like one of those marble statues Katniss and I saw during our tour of the Capitol museums.

"Don't mind Jo, she's just upset she never got a piece of it," Finnick says before he pecks Johanna on the cheek. She scowls again and punches him in the arm. "How you doing over there, 12? You're looking kind of washed out," he says as he inspects my shirt.

"Just peachy," I respond. "Thrilled to be here. I'm not sure why your prep team dressed you up like that, though. It's not like you'll be gaining any sponsors," I say with a smile. I couldn't help myself. There's only so much prodding I can take before start to fight back.

Johanna's lip twitches, like she's holding back a smile, and Finnick tilts his head at me, curious. It's hard to tell if they've realized this already: the pointlessness of playing the Game.

"Guess you're right about that. What's your plan, then?" Finnick asks casually, patting the chariot horse on the neck.

_Kill you, _I think begrudgingly, because I would rather not. I search my mind for something clever to say but come up short.

"I don't think any of us will really know for sure until we get in there," I say. I want to kick myself for my honest answer even though it's true. _I have no idea what I'm going to do._ Maybe they'll both mistake my uncertainty for mystery.

Finnick points to the elevators and changes the subject.

"Riding up?"

I nod and Johanna and I follow behind him. When the elevator doors close behind us, Johanna immediately strips out of her dress, wearing nothing except the brown leather slippers. I stare straight ahead and Finnick starts to laugh.

"See something you like, 12?" Johanna asks in a light voice.

"Sorry. You're not my type." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I think it's pretty obvious what my _type_ is at this point. Her name is Katniss Everdeen.

"I can change that," she quips and I feel her hand grip my backside. I lurch away from her and knock into the side of the elevator. Johanna just laughs.

"What? Did no one tell you about the birds and the bees, _little boy_?" Johanna taunts.

Almost immediately my mind veers and I all can think about is Katniss. Running my fingers between her legs. Her hand pumping me. Hot, wet kisses. The way she tastes and the throaty sounds she panted into my ear. I remember her flushed cheeks and the indescribable feeling of her skin moving against mine. Me hovering over her. Her legs around my waist. Her muscles clenching around me. The look on her face as she came. I've been able to get hard just thinking about it and I'm infinitely grateful it doesn't happen here, in this elevator.

I think, deep down, I would kill everyone one of these Victors to spend one more night with her, to press my body against hers and whisper in her ear how much I love her.

When I respond to Johanna I'm staring straight into her eyes.

"I'm perfectly well-versed in that area." I'm surprised my cheeks don't burn.

"Here that, Jo? I wouldn't underestimate him if I were you," Finnick says with a large grin. I look at him and he starts to chuckle knowingly as the doors open on the fourth floor. Only then do I feel the familiar heat of a blush rise up my neck.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite, you two!" Finnick jokes before he disappears.

The elevator is silent all the way up to the seventh floor. Out of the corner of my eye I see that Johanna is studying me carefully. The doors open and Johanna steps off.

"I don't underestimate you," she says and I look at her. I know immediately she's not talking about sex anymore. She doesn't seem phased by the fact that she's completely nude and the look in her eyes is one of silent resolve.

Just as the doors begin to close she speaks again.

"I just hope we don't overestimate you."

* * *

The training center is almost empty when I arrive the first day. I decided to come early because I have nothing else to do and I thought I might as well get a head start on practicing with some of the weapons in here. I spot the Victors from 5 and 6 sitting in the corner. One is staring at his hands, the other is touching the wall as if trying to figure a way out. I wrote them off easily during the second Reaping. One is clearly addicted to morphling, the other has to be over 65 years old. I wonder why the Capitol chose them. They don't seem like they are capable of feeding themselves, let alone aiding a rebellion.

Finnick's early too, and seems to be milling around the ropes station. He's chatting with the older man I vaguely remember to be from District 3. I'm not sure what to do with myself. I know Katniss would want me to ignore the other people in here and start practicing with plants and snares right away. I'm walking towards the plants station when Finnick calls me.

"Hey, there District 12!" I turn around and look at him. He's standing by the rope station, all genuine smiles and wild bronze hair. It goes against my nature to shy away from other people but this time I back away. I'm not scared of Finnick Odair. I just don't want to get too attached to him. To any of them, really, because I know I'm just going to have to kill them in the end. "How are they treating you up in the penthouse? Doesn't look like you got much sleep."

_That's because I suffer from horrible post-traumatic stress nightmares and the only way I can sleep at night is if I can hold onto my girlfriend, who suffers from the same nightmares. Isn't that cute, District 4?_

"I was trying to erase the image of you in that fishing net from my mind," I reply dryly. If he wants to play this game, I'll go along with it. Finnick laughs loudly and slaps my shoulder.

"Well if you've got the goods, am I right? The ladies sure didn't seem to mind it. And some of the men, for that matter," he continues. I laugh along with him equally confused and disturbed. Whenever I see Finnick, I see Snow's version. The handsome young man, adored by the Capitol, sold to the highest bidder. _It could have been me._

"This is rude of me. Have you met Beetee? District 3." Finnick turns to the small man by his side and gestures between the two of us. The man named Beetee looks up at me with a half smile.

"Beetee. Nice to meet you I'm Peeta," I hold my hand out and he grips it weakly, distractedly. "You're from District 3?" I flinch inwardly. That was a stupid statement; Finnick just said he was from District 3.

Beetee nods and I glance back up at Finnick but he just smiles and moves to the other side of the room. I look over and see him make his way toward Johanna. _I'm happier here. _

"I'm sorry you were Reaped," Beetee says in a soft voice. I turn to look at him. This isn't something that should be discussed here, or anywhere for that matter. Not in the Capitol. I move to shake my head but Beetee interrupts me quietly.

"There are no sound devices in here. Cameras, yes, but none that transmit sound. Only here, though. In the living quarters they have everything."

I'm shocked by his bluntness and my eyes go wide. I take the man in. He's on the shorter side with very pale skin and dark hair. He's from District 3 so I know that he knows a lot about the technology in here. I can't decide if I trust him or not. I know I shouldn't, I shouldn't trust anyone, but something about this old man, the way he stands and his soft voice, pull me in. I'm about to ask him 'why?' when he continues speaking.

"The Gamemakers are up there," Beetee gestures ever so slightly to the second floor of the Training Center while pulling at a knot. A dozen or so Gamemakers are milling about, chatting with one another. Plutarch Heavensbee is pouring himself some coffee. My blood boils, remembering how friendly he was to me during the Victory Tour. No one is paying attention to us, which I find strange. If we're all here because we're suspected traitors, why aren't they more attentive?

"We're right in their line of sight. They come down here once training officially starts," Beetee continues. "Who would dream of spreading words of treason in the belly of the beast?"

I close my mouth, which I realize had been hanging open and Beetee keeps pulling at the ropes, finally loosening the knot he had been working on.

"That'll be his downfall. Arrogance and blind stupidity."

Beetee drops the rope and walks away from me. I reel at his words.

I talk to a few other people that day during training, trying to keep my demeanor calm, ignoring Beetee's words. Chaff and I share our experiences with phantom limbs. I chat with Finnick for a while. Johanna grabs my ass again and tries to make it seem like I was the one hitting on her. I sit with Cecelia during lunch, and listen to her tell stories about her young boys. I watch her eyes glaze over and try desperately not to be affected by her. She'll have to die for me to make it back and she only reminds me of what I have to lose.

I lie in bed that night thinking of Katniss, of the way her hair smells, wondering if she can somehow find sleep without me.

* * *

On the second day of training, Beetee ignores me completely, which I find odd considering our exchange the day before. I try not to let it get to me so naturally it does. I'm about to confront him again when out of nowhere Johanna pulls me over to the camouflage station.

"Mind showing me some tricks?" It's the first time she's said anything without trying to make me uncomfortable and I'm so surprised that I agree. I know I shouldn't be teaching her my trade secrets but I have a terrible habit of not being able to turn people down, even if they could potentially kill me in a few days. _I'm awful at this._

"Sure," I respond, hating myself. I start to mix some paints and Johanna moves across the table.

"Well, if you're trying to camouflage you need—"

"I know you spoke to Beetee," she says quietly so the Gamemaker in the corner doesn't overhear us. I resume mixing the paints.

"I spoke to him yesterday for about 3 minutes," I reply casually. I don't trust her. In fact, I trust her the least out of every one of these people.

"It's true about the sound devices. He would know, after all. He probably made them."

I glance up at her but she's looking down at the paint, dipping one of her fingers into the mixture experimentally.

"They're really riled up out there. In the Districts. In the Capitol. You and I both know you're a big part of that."

I continue mixing the paint but can feel my face pale. What is she getting at?

"I don't think you like me all that much," Johanna says, voice rather serious. "Maybe you should start to remember who the real enemy is, 12." I pause, my fingers stilling in the mixed paint. "Just think it over. Now, come on I'm sick of this arts and craft shit. Let me show you what I can do with an axe."

Johanna moves towards the station with the axes and I quickly dry my hands and follow her, trying not to let what she said show on my face.

After lunch I head over to the bow and arrow station. I'm running my fingers over the bow, itching to practice. Katniss was a very patient teacher and I'm not good at it but if I can surprise the other Victors, I would have quite an edge.

"You miss her."

I turn around at the sound of Finnick's voice. I don't know what to say to him. Obviously I miss her. I can't go five seconds without thinking of her, but this time I was honestly just trying to size up these bows. I wonder if he knows Katniss taught me how to shoot.

"That obvious, huh?" I ask. Finnick's a nice guy. At least he pretends to be. For all I know Beetee and Johanna could be pretending, too. I have no idea what to think of them anymore and their camaraderie is making my initial plan of "act like a wall, suck it up and kill them all" a lot more difficult.

"Yeah. That obvious," Finnick sighs. "I mean, I don't know you very well, you just seem kind of lost. I've watched your interviews from before. You seem like you would be a lot friendlier." I stop my hands on the bow and whip my head in his direction. His casual, loosely boastful tone is completely gone, replaced with genuine concern. It's thrown me off. I want to tell him that typically I am a lot friendlier but being sent to my imminent death for the second time in less than a year will take a toll on your manners. Instead I take a deep breath and let it out through my nose.

"I don't want to be here. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to kill anyone. I want to go home." I'm surprised by my honesty with him. Maybe it's the fact that Finnick kind of reminds me of my brother, Rye. That coupled with the fact I'm absolutely terrible at playing these games. I can't do it. I'm not good at manipulating people.

I watch as Finnick grabs an arrow and starts to twirl it around in his fingers.

"There's a plan. A rescue mission," Finnick's voice is low but more urgent than normal and I can feel my body freeze. "You just need to trust me. You need to trust Johanna. She spoke with you, right?"

I nod, too shocked to do anything else.

"I can understand why you would have your reservations. But we're too tired of playing mind games with people in the same situation as us. I'm tired of playing games with the Capitol. I want to go back to the girl I love, too." My eyebrows knit together. _Finnick has a girl back home? In District Four?_ It goes against everything I'm supposed to believe about his playboy image. I look at him hard and for a second, his façade crumbles away. I see it in his eyes. His heartbreak matches mine.

"I think you should hear us out. It's your only chance, really. You're a smart guy so I know that _you_ know you don't really have a chance in this by yourself. I alone could squash you like a fly in the arena. But I don't want to." Finnick picks up the arrow and brings it to the light, pretending to examine it. _It's true._ Finnick could destroy me. I'm strong, yes, but he's got a solid 4 inches on me height-wise and he's a lot more agile. If he has a girl back home why doesn't he just kill me? What the hell is this rescue mission he's talking about? I'm on the defensive now.

"Why include me? Why am I of any use to you?" I glance over at him and to my surprise he looks slightly disappointed.

"Sometimes people aren't necessarily 'of use' to you but you try to help them anyway," Finnick says while considering the arrow in his hands. "For some reason I thought you would already know that."

Finnick hands me the arrow, pats my back and then walks away. I turn around and watch him. He nods at Johanna, all the while tapping the three middle fingers of his right hand to his right leg.

Finnick's words haunt me the rest of the day and throughout the night. I try to think of all the reasons he would want to screw me over and, unfortunately, come up with hundreds. But the truth of the matter is, if Finnick wants to come out alive, he will. Trusting him is my only shot of survival, even if it is ambiguous. Trusting people is really the only way I know how to survive, if I'm being honest. I trusted Katniss. I trusted Haymitch. It's what I know how to do. To trust.

What the hell was I thinking when I thought I could kill all these people and come out Victor? I tried to be closed off and I failed. I have one leg, for god's sake. Any possibility I had of surviving suddenly seems very far away.

"_Sometimes people aren't necessarily 'of use' to you but you try to help them anyway."_

Of everything he said to me, this sticks the most. It's a concept I've lived by my entire life and being here, in the Capitol, for less than a week has turned it around in my head. I've abandoned my beliefs and adopted a new set: do anything to win, especially if it means losing yourself. It's exactly what the Capitol wants. Didn't I tell Katniss that same thing the night before my first Games? That if I'm going to die, I want to die as Peeta—not the Capitol-constructed Victor.

"_For some reason I thought you would already know that."_

He can't possibly know about Katniss and me and the bread that defined out relationship. How many times have I said those words to Katniss, phrased differently, these past few months? That sometimes you want to help people for the sake of helping. If I turn away from Finnick, I'll be a hypocrite. I'll be a phony. A liar. I will have lied to Katniss.

For once, I let mind focus entirely on her, not caring about the pain it will surely bring. Her eyes. Her soft, dark hair. Her smile. _That_ smile. The freckle just below her left breast. Her laugh. The soft skin of her inner thigh. The way she looks with peanut butter stuck to her nose. The way her tongue tastes. The feeling of being inside of her. Her whispered words.

"_I love you. Always."_

We promised not to lie to each other. If I somehow make it back, the blood of 11 others permanently stained on my hands, how could I look at her the same way? I will be a liar. What's more, how can I live with myself if I knew there might have been another option? I remember the three fingers, the sign that confounded me. Now it's a beacon of hope in this otherwise hopeless situation.


	16. Chapter 16

I hold the tea that Prim insists I drink with shaking hands, staring at the blank television screen with an intensity that is clearly making everyone nervous.

"Drink it, Katniss," Prim insists in a soft voice. It's always a soft voice, too soft, like I'll break if she isn't careful. _Maybe it's true._ "Please? It's supposed to make you calm."

I glance at her quickly and then relent, taking a large sip of the foul-tasting water. Prim smiles and I try to return it. The tea just makes me drowsy and we all know what happens when I fall asleep…

I think the first night he was gone was the worst. My bed was cold, too big, and the nightmares seemed to find me almost immediately. I don't know how long I was in the fit but if mother had to use her smelling salts to rouse me it couldn't have been good. Prim said she wanted to sleep in my bed with me the next night, hoping that she would be able to keep the nightmares away. I didn't know how to tell her it wouldn't work, and she was so insistent that I let it happen. I pretended to be asleep the whole time, closing my eyes only until I started to feel myself fall into unconsciousness.

It's a strategy I haven't had to use for at least three months and I know it's probably true for him as well.

"It's on," Madge says, bringing my attention back to the television screen. Tonight are the final interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Tomorrow the Games start.

I've been a mess.

But not in a way that anyone would be able to detect. I 'wake' early and have developed a habit of obsessively cleaning the house because it's one of the only things I know how to do. They stop me for lunch, force me to eat, and then let me continue on my spree until dinner. I know it upsets Prim, and usually I would just go off into the woods, but unfortunately that isn't an option. I didn't realize how big of a distraction Peeta was until 10 minutes after he left, when all I wanted to do was just be near him. I miss him so much it hurts, and combined with the intense anxiety I feel over the situation, I wouldn't be surprised if my heart failed me at times.

I don't cry though, not even when I'm by myself, which I don't even count as a victory anymore: I'm made of stone. I think everyone's been expecting a massive breakdown on my part but I haven't given them anything.

_Just be a wall. _

I know this isn't what Peeta meant, but I'm sure that if I let my emotions shine even the smallest amount, I won't be able to stop them. Prim has only ever seen me cry twice: the day I left for the Victory Tour and the day after the announcement. Sure, maybe she was able to detect the sets of unshed tears in the weeks following the announcement, but I never cried. I always seemed to save that for Peeta, which I now realize is horrible of me. Sobbing after nightmares. Sobbing when he was picked. And then the constant leaky eyes in the weeks that followed, punctuated by bouts of silent weeping, always in the safety of the dark. In the safety of his arms. I hated looking into his eyes then, simultaneously embarrassed with myself and terrified of what I would see looking back at me. Now I wish I did because I miss his eyes.

I take the sea glass out of my pocket and hold it in my hands against the cup of tea.

Madge shifts on the couch and looks over at Gale. Madge has been such a good friend to me, lately. At least I think that's how a good friend is supposed to act. It's been so long since I've been a good friend.

Gale has difficulty looking me in the eyes and I can't decide if it's because he feels bad for me or hates me. I've been a terrible friend to him. I all but forgot he existed after the announcement and haven't had a real conversation with him since that day on my bathroom floor. Right now he's sitting in a kitchen chair, silently staring at the screen.

I switch my gaze to the television now. The first day they started airing footage, and I could see Peeta, I was a slave to the television. When they first showed him stepping off the train I was confused by his obvious vulnerability.

"_Just be a wall. Don't give them anything." _

I didn't understand what he was trying to do. Why wasn't he obeying to his own advice? But then the Opening Ceremony aired and I understood as best I could. He was still wearing his Reaping clothes and he looked so small on his chariot, kind of pathetic actually, and at first I was furious.

"Why the hell is he wearing that?" I had shouted angrily at the room, and it was the most noise I'd made in days.

"There are no sponsors, Katniss," Madge had offered quietly, placing her hand on my knee for a half second before rethinking it and pulling away quickly. She didn't have to explain anything else. He had looked so overwhelmed during the chariot ride, so much so that I knew he must have been playing it up partly. Then the rose hit him in the head and a look of complete disgust crossed his face and I saw him grind the petals to a paste with his foot. _Determination._

And then there was the look he gave Snow at the end. One that surprised me so much I almost dropped the cup of tea Prim made me drink. _Hate_. I'd never seen it on him and his eyes looked stormy that if I didn't know him already, the look on Peeta's face would have scared me.

So I'm confused by his presentation. I don't know what he's doing, or why, or even how, so all I can really do is trust him.

Caesar is dressed in a crisp yellow suit tonight, his hair a jet-black, and he's speaking animatedly at the crowd.

_Why wouldn't he be excited?_ I think bitterly. _The Third Quarter Quell starts tomorrow._

I try to listen to the Tribute interviews but I'm so distracted with the fact that I'll be able to hear Peeta's voice, even through the television, that I'm only really able to half-listen. The man from District 1 is an idiot, that's clear, and Enobaria from 2 insists on smiling throughout her interview, baring her strange set of teeth like a feral cat. The man from District 3 looks anxious and fidgets throughout his interview while Finnick Odair recites a romantic poem from memory, dedicating it to his one true love. The camera pans to the crowd and I see multiple women faint and I'm sure there will be gossip tomorrow about who it could possibly be. _Pathetic_. I think he looked ridiculous in his precariously draped fishnet. After what Madge said about the lack of sponsors, the extent his prep team went to show him off seems ridiculous. _Portia's a genius_.

The interviews for 5 and 6 are so depressing I can hardly watch. The man and woman, sickly and old, can barely put two words together and Caesar just ends up talking the entire time.

I hate Johanna Mason already, knowing how cunning she was in her first Games. She talks to Caesar like an old friend, flirting heavily. I wonder why the hell she is playing this card because it doesn't seem like she was a born flirt. I can see the devious look behind her eyes and I don't trust her. _Peeta can't trust her._ But she surprises me when looks genuinely upset that she is going to have to kill the friends she's made over the years. I understand it to be a strange form of rebellion.

The woman from 8 talks about her children and I have to tune her out.

The interviews from 9,10, and 11 pass in a blur. I couldn't tell you what they talked about.

Finally, Peeta is called and I watch him walk towards Caesar on stage, reveling in the first clear shot I can get of him. His hair is brushed back and he's wearing a simple black suit. I sit stone still on the couch even though my heart is knocking in my chest.

"He looks very handsome, Katniss," Prim says, patting my knee. I know she's trying to make me feel better but it doesn't work. Of course Peeta's handsome and Portia didn't put him in a lot of makeup, which pleases me somewhat. He's best that way. I stare at his bad leg, scrutinizing his walk, and can't see any obvious limp.

_Has it been hurting him during training? Has he been able to sleep at all? _

Peeta smiles at Caesar as he sits down, giving a small wave to the audience, and Caesar starts to speak all too quickly.

"Peeta Mellark, District 12. It hasn't been more than a month since I've seen you last," he observes. I can't read Caesar's expression. He looks equal parts upset and amused and I know it's exactly how he's supposed to play it. _It's tragic, isn't it? It's supposed to be._

"I'm afraid so, Caesar, I hope you aren't sick of me," Peeta says with a small smile and just hearing his voice is calming. But it's not the ton he uses for me—soft and low—that I've grown accustomed to hearing as he speaks to me in the night.

"Don't be ridiculous, just tell me you've figured out how to use the Capitol showers by now," Caesar jokes and Peeta smiles again.

"I think so, no need to smell me this time around. Unless you want to, of course," he says and I wonder how he's so good at this..

"Tell me, how has training been with half the number of Tributes?" Caesar presses. I don't even see the point of bringing this us. Training scores haven't even been announced because of the lack of sponsors. I wonder what training even consisted of this time around.

"It's been interesting, obviously. I've gotten to meet a bunch of new people, and I like a great few of them, so naturally you can understand how this can be upsetting. Like Johanna said, I can't imagine what it must be like for the other Victors who have grown to know each other over the years."

Peeta leans back slightly in his chair, never breaking eye-contact with Caesar, who nods understandingly, thinking over what was just said.

All I can do is study Peeta's face. If there are bags under his eyes, I can't tell, and I know that Portia is to thank for that. His cheeks aren't sunken and I know that's because I've been force-feeding him for the past few weeks. But his eyes are pained and my stomach twists. I want to run my fingers over his cheeks because I always see his expression soften when I do that. And I'd do anything to make that look in his eyes go away.

"Well I hope they've been nice to you. You're new after all," Caesar says with a hint of amusement in his voice and Peeta laughs softly. The sound is comfort and pain at the same time. I don't know what to do about it

"Of course not. They've all been incredibly nice to me," Peeta answers and he looks down at his feet, a rule I know Haymitch would berate him for breaking if he were there. But he's sitting on a kitchen chair in the corner, staring intently at the screen. He's sober, at least as sober as Haymitch can be, and I'm not sure why. I haven't had the courage to talk to Haymitch again after that one night. I see him talk quietly to Gale every now and then, though, and I know it can only be about the rebellion.

"You bet we have!" Johanna calls from her seat, and I'm brought back to the interview. The camera pans to her and she winks. Peeta rolls his eyes and actually laughs a bit, which irks me. I don't like the suggestive look she's giving him.

"Oh, is that true? Should I warn Katniss?" Caesar whispers cautiously to Peeta and at the sound of my name he stiffens, although imperceptibly so. I think I may be the only one who notices. Johanna just set up a perfect segue into our ill-fated relationship.

"No, there's no need for that," Peeta assures as he looks up at Caesar and smiles a little. It's not _his_ smile.

"I didn't think so," Caesar agrees and his voice changes. "Tell me, how did Katniss take the Quarter Quell announcement?"

The joking atmosphere of the interview disappears almost immediately and the audience in the Capitol is tense, absolutely silent. Peeta clenches his jaw and I watch his Adam's apple bob.

"She was…" He pauses here, looking at his hands before speaking again. "Upset."

_That's the understatement of the century_.

Caesar waits, clearly expecting Peeta to elaborate. I wonder how it feels for him to be shorted by his favorite, charming, most enthusiastic interviewee. It's become obvious to everyone that Peeta is subdued this time around and it's probably disconcerting to many.

"I can imagine so. Especially after almost losing you during the last Hunger Games," Caesar says sympathetically. He's egging Peeta on but Peeta isn't taking the bait, only giving Caesar a curt nod, so Caesar presses on.

"What did she say to you before you left? You caused quite a scene at the train station, if the footage doesn't lie."

At this, the screens behind Caesar and Peeta come to life. They show me running down the steps of the Justice Building with a crazed look in my eyes. I throw my arms around him, locked tightly around his neck, my face buried into his shoulder. It's incredibly strange to watch this, considering this is the kind of cinematic romance I would have no idea how to pull off if I didn't actually love him. It's like ice water has been forced down my throat and I can feel a coldness spread to the ends of my limbs. Watching this is almost as bad as experiencing it, only because this time I can see the way Peeta's eyes are scrunched as I hug him, the way they fly open as the Peacekeepers pull me away.

"I'm sorry Caesar, but I can't tell you that. There are too many things that have been taken from us and there are some things I don't want touched by the rest of the country, if you can understand. That's one of them," Peeta responds, his voice surprisingly hard.

_I love you. Always. _

That's what I said and Peeta is protecting that promise, even if it has the ability floor the audience. But then again, the audience assumes I love him. It's only the few people I know in District 12 who would chance to suspect anything different and now I realize: Peeta's protecting _me_. He has no idea if I told anyone my feelings for him. People tell me it's obvious but I've only whispered it to Prim that one time on the bottom of the bathtub. I've told him fewer times than I can count on one hand. I've only ever held his hand in public; kissed him once, very briefly, in the Hob; kissed him once in my kitchen. The truth behind our relationship is insanely private, and I'm positive no one knows what has happened in our beds, the heated kisses, the whispered words.

_We made love. _

"Surely she made you promise to win? Spit-fire like herself?" Caesar leans in, not about to be deterred by Peeta's simple answers.

"The odds clearly aren't in my favor, Caesar. We don't make promises to each other we can't keep."

Caesar's shock is obvious and there is a collective intake of breath from the audience. A burning pain runs through my veins. He never _did_ promise to win.

Caesar doesn't even try to hide the shock in his voice anymore and he leans closer to Peeta, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Well what did you say? You must have told her that you love her, of course. Did you not?" Peeta's brows come together and his frustration shows through.

"We weren't given enough time to say what we both really felt. I know I didn't get enough time to say everything I wanted to," he says, pausing. When he speaks again he looks directly into the camera, voice soft and low, and I know it's meant only for me. "But I love her more than anything. I think she already knows that."

The sea glass burns against my palm and I clutch the mug tightly, refusing to look anywhere but the screen. I can hear a loud sobbing from the crowd but the camera remains focused on Peeta's face.

"Did you know that in District 12, when two people get married they perform a ceremony? The husband and wife take turns burning bread, and then they feed it to each other. It's simple, really. Nothing compared to all the incredible parties here in the Capitol, but it means something back home. More than a license, really."

I've stopped breathing, unsure of where he's going with this.

"Are you saying you two got married?" Caesar asks in a hush whisper, and everything is eerily silent. The crowd, the house, my mind.

"No," Peeta responds with a sad smile. "I wanted to marry her. I've dreamt about it since I was little. I still do, but when Katniss pleaded for us to do the ceremony that last night I wouldn't let her."

He's lying, obviously, but I can't take my eyes from the screen even though I'm sure everyone in the room is staring at me. I feel Prim turn her head but I don't move, continuing to stare at Peeta. We barely talked about marriage, the only thing coming from the discussion was that Peeta, one day, wanted to marry me and I wanted to marry no one.

_And I hate myself. _

He looks incredibly guilty, probably because he just openly lied about me. The audience will perceive this as a different kind of guilt though. He's getting all his points across, isn't he?

"Why ever not?" Caesar asks, incredulous.

"Because," he says, and it looks like it's quite painful for him to say. Peeta looks down at his hands and I hadn't realized he had been wearing a bracelet the whole time. A thin, golden bracelet. He touches the clasp, a mockingjay, and I look back at his face. A variety of emotions cross over it and I can read them all: anger followed by heartbreak, turning into a sad resignation. "I love her too much to make her a widow at sixteen."

With that the buzzer goes off. Again, Peeta has managed to steal the show. It's not a big announcement, no monumental piece of information like last time. He's just said what he feels and what Panem is probably thinking but not courageous enough to voice. Last time he did something like this the star-crossed lovers of District 12 were born and I had hated him. _And has it really only been six months since then?_ Because even though he blatantly lied, telling the country I want to do the one thing I've openly disregarded, I don't hate him. Never.

The Capitol is in a frenzy again, angrily shouting garbled bits and pieces of their minds at whoever will listen. After all, who wouldn't be furiously heartbroken after hearing this?

_Peeta Mellark refused to marry the love of his life because he knows he will die and doesn't want her widowed at sixteen. _

He's done it again.

* * *

Madge hugs me as she leaves.

"If you want I'll come watch with you tomorrow," she says quietly. Her lovely blonde hair is blowing lightly around her face in the wind and she tightens her coat around her torso. Behind her, the light in Haymitch's house is on. After the interview ended he took an enormous pull from his flask and then left.

"Sometimes it's easier when there are people there with you," Madge says again.

I stare at her for a second and then nod. No one has brought up Peeta, or marriage. Mother retreated to her room right after Haymitch left and Prim ran into the kitchen where I'm sure she's crying.

"Sure, Madge. Thank you," I say, tired. Maybe it's the affects of Prim's tea, but my arms and legs feel heavy and my mind is fuzzy. What am I kidding, it's because I haven't slept in days.

"Catnip."

I turn at Gale's voice. He's standing awkwardly a few feet behind me, his hands in his pockets. He looks at me and then at Madge. I look between the two of them, still confused by their relationship. They barely talk to each other, at least in my presence, but Gale insists that they've been working closely together in the name of the rebellion. Madge is giving Gale a hard look, and if I weren't so tired and so sad I would laugh. I've never seen Madge scowl before. But then again, what do I know? Our friendship consisted of eating lunch together in silence.

I look to Gale who stares right back at Madge, though not with a scowl, but with a sort of resigned purposed.

"Can I talk to you? Upstairs?" he asks me. I nod, say goodbye to Madge, and then make my way up the stairs. I sit on the floor of the bathroom and wait as Gale starts running the faucets. He sits across from me, back against the closed door, and we don't speak for a while. I see my bow and arrow in the corner, propped against the wall.

"Thank you for my bow, Gale," I say, finally looking at him. "I tried teaching him how to shoot," I explain, needing to talk to someone about tomorrow, hoping that Gale will understand.

"You're welcome," he says simply before we're engulfed in silence once again. I run my hands along the tiles, missing Peeta.

"He's smart, you know," Gale says after a while. "His strategy. He's playing to their emotions, trying to make them more angry. But not obviously so."

I look up from the floor and back at Gale. _But how will he do in the arena?_

"That's why he got picked instead of me," I say instead. "Haymitch said that he's the one who couldn't be changed to fit their rules." _Because I changed, _I continue on in my mind. I sit on my hands to try and hide the shaking.

"I'm glad they didn't pick you," Gale says suddenly, voice hard and angry and I don't say anything. I'm not glad. I would willingly have volunteered if it were an option. Gale doesn't know how unfair it is. That last time Haymitch essentially chose for me to live, all together giving up on Peeta. And now the world has given up on him again. But I won't. I can't.

_And I'm not glad._

I look back up at Gale and I might as well have said it aloud.

"Do you really want to marry him?" Gale asks, voice barely audible. I knew it would come to this, deep down. That someone would pull me aside and ask me this question. I had thought it would have been Prim, though. Gale isn't one to press these issues.

I stare him down before answering. He looks awful: haggard and thin.

"No," I respond frankly. "You know I don't want marriage. Or kids."

I study Gale's face and I can't understand his expression. I would have thought spending years in the woods together would have made us able to read the other like a book and I guess on some level it has. But not _real_ emotions. Not true sadness. Not heartbreak. Not absolute joy. _Not love_. If any of those emotions were present, the two of us hide them expertly, too worried about getting a proper haul, too worried about feeding our families. I've never really opened up to him and he's never really opened up to me before. We would talk about hunting, our families, our hate for the Capitol. We'd never really talk about ourselves and the few times we did I would switch the subject quickly and Gale never persisted.

"You're in love with him, though," Gale says and the words look like they taste foul leaving his mouth. He stares me down, grey eyes on grey. He's too stubborn to leave without an answer and normally I would be too stubborn to give him one. I want to leave the room, or stay silent, but Gale's my best friend and he deserves to hear it. Peeta deserves for it to be said.

"Yes," I whisper, before switching my eyes to the bow and arrow again, thinking it's a safer place to look.

"It happened during the Tour, didn't it?" Gale asks, like the question could be answered so simply, but there's something in his voice that's off. It's quiet, but I can detect the hidden malice. I can feel my fists clench together and I frown deeply.

"I'm sorry. You can—you can…talk to me," Gale says, briefly closing his eyes. "We're best friends. I'm not going to—I won't…"

Gale's never been one for words, just like me, but I've never seen him struggle so openly. I let my gaze fall back on him and he looks pained.

"You were so intent on never letting this happen. You said you never wanted this…" he trails off, staring at his hands.

"I just thought it would be us, Catnip. Can you understand?"

This is when the guilt I've kept at bay for the past few months start to creep in. I told Gale that I didn't love Peeta, and at the time, I didn't. Or I thought I didn't. And now look at us. Gale can't even meet my eyes and he looks miserable. My expression softens slightly, but when it does, Gale's becomes harder.

"Why…" he asks, anger and frustration tinting the word.

"It's not like I planned it, Gale," I spit at him. "If you know me at all, you'd know that."

Now I'm angry. I didn't think Gale had it in him to do this to me before the Games, before Peeta might be killed. And if Gale knows I love Peeta, why does he keep pressing the issue? It's like pouring salt into a gaping wound. My face contorts with equal parts misery and frustration and I see him realize this mistake. I can see him searching for the correct way to handle this, but we don't really know how to calm the other. Gale and I feed off each other's anger—fire feeding fire—and even if I ever did feel something for Gale, I don't think it would work out. We'd burn everything in our path.

I can feel the telltale lump in my throat. The one that precedes an infuriating crying session and all I want in the world is for Peeta to be here because I know I wouldn't have to explain this to him. And he wouldn't be judging me for doing something I said I would never do. He would let me be moody and distant but he would talk to me in that soft, low voice and somehow explain everything I'm feeling without actually trying. And then he would twirl his fingers around my hair, run his hand along my cheek, and my anger would evaporate like smoke. He would say something hilariously stupid and I would feel better. And he would hold me at night, even when I refused to love him, even though it's all he's ever wanted. And if the roles were switched for some reason, and he was in Gale's position, Peeta wouldn't question a thing.

And slowly, over the span of weeks…and months…all those things crept up on me.

_And that's 'why', Gale. _

"Is there any news on the rebellion?" I ask him with a thick voice, changing the subject. Gale doesn't answer at first and I close my eyes, trying to picture Peeta's eyes, _just his eyes_, hoping to calm myself down.

"No," he says quietly. "But it's growing, obviously. Madge is pulling what she can from her side."

"What's she pulling?" I ask, eyes still closed.

"Nothing monumental."

I open them finally, staring at Gale, wanting more information for the first time in weeks. But I know he doesn't have any or else he would tell me, even if he is angry, or upset or whatever emotions he's going through.

"When it's over I want to help." The words are completely foreign coming out of my mouth but I've made them that way. Because I can't let myself think about the 'over'.

* * *

After Gale leaves, I find Prim sitting in the kitchen, petting that disgusting cat. She's been crying, like I suspected she has, but she's tried to wash her face.

"Hey, Little Duck," I sigh as I sit down next to her at the table, taking her hand in mine.

"Hi Katniss," she responds, looking up at me. Her eyes are red and her face is blotchy. I move to hug her and she willingly puts her arms around me. We sit like that for a while, just holding onto each other.

"I've been a bad sister lately," I whisper. I've been the worst sister, actually. I've completely neglected Prim, focusing only on myself. I've been a bad friend, too. Gale's shown me that. I feel like I've failed everyone. _I can't even think about Peeta._

"No, Katniss," Prim says into my shoulder. "You needed to help Peeta." Her voice wavers when she says his name and I clamp my teeth over my lip. "I understand that. I don't need you like that."

I don't know what to say so I just hug Prim tighter, fighting off the tears I've kept at bay for days now.

"I've been the bad sister," she whispers.

"What?" I ask, incredulous. I pull back so I can look at her properly and I see a fresh set of tears in her eyes.

"I never help you," she says quietly. "You always help me. And I can't even help you sleep. I'm the worst sister."

Buttercup purrs in the corner, as if in agreement, and I have the urge to throw something at it. How could she possibly think that when she's the only thing keeping me from loosing my mind right now? I pull her close again and two, maybe three, tears roll down my cheek.

"No, Prim. You're the best sister," I whisper with a small smile, slipping back into my role. "You're so sweet and you teach me so many things," I say before poking her nose. This coaxes a tiny smile out of her.

"What do I teach you?" she asks softly.

So many things: how to heal, how to laugh, how to live. But most importantly?

"You taught me that it's okay to love," I barely whisper because I know that if I speak any louder, my voice will break into a thousand little pieces.

"_Just let yourself fall in love with Peeta, Katniss."_

I did. And now it's hurting both him and me. But I can't, for the life of me, regret it. Prim looks up at me and I have to close my eyes. I don't want to make her feel worse than she already does. But it's not like Prim made me fall for Peeta; it was mine all along. She just made me realize it.

"You should go to his house tonight," she says and I can't say anything in response. How do I tell her that going there will just make me sadder beyond comprehension?

"Maybe you'll sleep better there, Katniss. You need to sleep tonight because you're not going to be able to sleep at all once it starts," she says, voice stronger than before. She's right. Once the Games start, there is no way I will be able to sleep. And once they're over…

_He needs to come back._

"I don't want to walk around his house without him…it's like trespassing," I tell her and Prim actually giggles, the sound like bells around the empty house.

"Are you kidding me? Do you think he would honestly care?"

She gives me a condescending look and I guess I deserve it.

"Probably not," I say. I look out the window at Peeta's dark house, ignoring the bubbling longing in my chest. Maybe I will sleep better there.

"Katniss?" Prim asks. I turn to look at her again. "Do you want to talk about Gale?"

I clench my teeth together and Prim looks back at me, concerned.

"Rory tells me that he loves you. That he's jealous," she continues. I look down at my hands, unable to think of a response.

"But I feel bad for him," Prim says. "Because I think it would be terrible to be in love with someone who loves someone else so much more."

Prim gets up off the table and starts to clean the tea mugs while I stare at her back. How is it she can so easily come to these conclusions? She's thirteen.

"But also, I think Gale is kind of stupid because if he did love you, like Rory says, he would have told you way before the Games even started. Maybe he blames himself," she thinks aloud, drying the teacups. She turns around and picks up Buttercup.

"You shouldn't blame yourself for that," she says with a smile. I let her words wash over me and they have the ability to numb, but not heal. For some reason only Peeta can do that.

"Thank you, Prim," I say, and she smiles beatifically before she climbs the stairs.

"I think Peeta will come back," she says as she reaches the top and her smile disappears, replaced with a look of pure determination. "He loves you so much. So he'll come back."

And just like that, the pain and fear come swelling back like a wave. I nod at her and walk out the door.

Peeta's house is dark and silent but I don't turn on the lights. I don't want to touch anything, I don't want anything out of place because Peeta put it that way and I want things exactly as they were when he comes back. _Because he has to._

The house still smells like bread and I can see the countertop, even in the dark. Containers of flour, sugar and the like are stacked neatly in the corner. The living room looks the same, and I spot a large sweater hanging over the back of the couch. It's Peeta's and I leave it exactly where it is, even though I have an insane urge to put it on. I bet it smells like him. Maybe it's almost like being wrapped up in him. But I turn away. He can put it away when he comes home. Because he's still alive. And he will stay that way. _He has to._

I go straight to his bedroom, and stand there, looking around, and spot a shoe in the corner. A single shoe, because he usually keeps the other attached to his prosthetic. I wonder where that other shoe is right now, and for some reason, that's the thing that sets me off.

A whimper finds it's way out of my throat and silent tears start to stream down my cheeks. Without thinking I crawl into his bed, under the covers, keening for comfort. I hate myself for messing up his bed, because I was there when he made it. I'm ruining it, it's like I'm ruining a piece of him, but I burrow in anyway, pressing my face against his pillow, and I can smell him. His shampoo—clean, soap. Hints of vanilla, but also the indescribable musky scent that lingers on his skin and clothes. I can feel my tears soaking the pillow and I apologize inwardly.

_I'm sorry I always seem to cry here, Peeta. _

I close my eyes, willing the tears to stop, and strangely, I'm not met with horrible images from the Games or scenes from my nightmares.

It's Peeta's smile, moonlight bouncing off his teeth, and the memory covers me like a warm blanket.

It was in District 7, a few days after Peeta and I agreed to share a bed. I had dreamt of the tracker jackers and woken up screaming. Peeta calmed me, wiping the tears from my cheeks, his soft, low voice the only thing able to quiet my mind. And I let him, until I needed to pull away because his arms were too warm and comforting and I was confused.

"_I'm going to make you laugh right now," I hear him say in the dark. I've turned over and tried to put some space between us but his statement makes me turn around. I can see the whites of his teeth through the dark as he smiles._

"_You don't believe me, but it's true. Because I've just thought of the funniest thing in the entire world." _

"_Oh have you? I'm glad my nightmares make you think of funny things." My angry tone clearly doesn't dissuade him and he turns over on his pillow to look at me. His smile fades slightly._

"_That's not true, Katniss," he says and I know he's right. Sometimes I think that seeing me have nightmares is more painful to Peeta than his own are. "But I'm still right."_

"_I'm pretty sure I won't think it's funny," I mutter, scowling at him through the dark, unable to rid the horrible images of Glimmer's distorted, swollen body from my mind. Peeta smiles again. How is it he can smile right now?_

"_Good," he says. The light from the moon makes his eyes glow white, matching his grin. "A challenge. Well let me predict the outcome, then. I'm going to say it, and you're going to try your absolute hardest not to laugh, because that's the way you are, but it won't work. Then you'll be laughing until you can't breathe. And I win."_

"_You seem pretty confident," I retort. I wish he would just fall asleep already so I can curl up next to him without him knowing._

_Peeta grins a little longer and then takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes and even through the dark I can see the shadows his lashes make. When he opens his eyes again, his expression has turned solemn and I think he may have given up whatever game he was playing before. But he speaks nonetheless._

"_What if Haymitch and Effie switched bodies? And the only thing that could make them switch back was if they both did a choreographed dance routine and then kissed at the end of it."_

_I stare at him, flabbergasted. And then he smiles enormously. My eyebrows pull together and I bite the inside of my cheek until it hurts because all I can see right now is a very girlish Haymitch, prancing around, trying to make a gnarly, drunk Effie kiss him. And then, as fast as I can, I try to hide my laughter in the pillow, almost smothering myself in the process. My body shakes with uncontrollable laughter and I feel Peeta's hand on my back, just briefly, before he turns over._

"_I win," he says through the dark. _

Somehow, even though he's miles away, Peeta's made me smile. And I know this is what he wants, and all I want to do is kiss him for it. Kiss him until I'm smiling like an idiot and we hit our teeth. It's all I can really think about right now, lying in his bed, nose in his pillow.

_I miss him. _

And I'm sad again. But for a few minutes, I wasn't too sad and I'm no longer crying because I can't get the image of Haymitch and Effie dancing on stage out of my mind.

Maybe it's because I haven't slept in days, or maybe it's Prim's tea, but somehow I am able to fall asleep in Peeta's bed, which is still very big, but somehow not as cold as mine.

* * *

Sitting in front of the television the next day is surreal. The only way I'm really able to function is if I complete shut myself off, which turns out to be much more difficult than I had anticipated with all my emotions bubbling under the surface.

_Just be a wall. Don't give them anything._

The minutes before the start of the Games pass all too fast. Madge and Prim have tried to make me eat something but it tasted like cardboard in my mouth. I ate it slowly anyway, feeling myself turn to brick. Prim's tea sits untouched on the table next to the couch and I sit on my hands to prevent the shaking.

The television turns on by itself and I know for the next week or so, my eyes won't leave it.

The camera pans around, giving us our first look of the arena. It's an arid desert, but I can see pockets of dense vegetation in the distance, and even farther are a series of white-capped mountains. I've never seen anything like this before, and I know that the Gamemakers must have gone out of their way to make this arena more different than anything we've ever seen.

The cornucopia is situated in the desert and the twelve pedestals that surround it still show none of the Victors. Claudius Templesmith is speaking but his voice is blurred and slow in my mind. I glance at Haymitch, who seems to be thinking hard about something. I don't remember him coming over.

"They'll have to go straight for the outcrop of trees seeing as that's likely where the water will be," he explains and I'm infinitely grateful for him, all of a sudden. This is what I need right now, logistical explanations. Strategies. Because I can't do the emotional. Not without Peeta here.

"What do you think is by those mountains?" I ask.

"Don't know. Though I'm sure it's something if they felt the need to include them. Why else have three different climates?" Haymitch wonders aloud, rubbing at his chin.

"Is it a different climate for each Quarter Quell?" Madge asks and I turn my head sharply in her direction. Madge looks from me to Haymitch and then blushes, unsure if her suggestion was out of line. Haymitch stares at her for a long moment, lost in thought.

"Maybe," I force out, trying to lessen the awkward silence, knowing that its something I've never been good at. I want to thank her for being here, when we were barely friends to begin with. My only real friend before the Games isn't here. But I can't blame Gale for having to work the mines.

"Donner?" Haymitch asks out of the blue. Madge looks at me for some sort of explanation but I have nothing to give her.

"Um, no. That's my mother's maiden name. I'm…Undersee."

Haymitch stares at her for a while, seemingly trying to piece a puzzle together, and I'm about to ask him what his problem is when the platforms begin to raise.

My heart flutters like a tiny bird in my chest and I search the screen frantically for Peeta.

He's on a platform between the woman from eight and the man from three. It seems the uniforms for this year's Games consist of a series of layers. Boots. Tight, breathable pants and a shirt made of the same material. A long jacket with a series of pockets.

Something's off, though. Peeta's face is twisted into a painful mask. He stares at his feet, mouth agape, and his face is extremely pale. Claudius' voice booms over the loud speaker and the countdown begins.

_Sixty._

It takes Peeta about 20 seconds to shake himself out of whatever took a hold of him and he glances around.

_Forty._

The camera pans to the other tributes and they all seem to be bracing themselves for a race. All are facing the cornucopia, even Peeta.

_Twenty. _

I close my eyes and breath out my nose, fishing for the sea glass in my pocket, and open them again just in time for Claudius Templesmith's voice to ring out.

"Let the seventy fifth Hunger Games begin!"

The cannon booms and Peeta leaps off his platform, running straight for the cornucopia. I want to yell at him for running straight into the fight but my voice is lost somewhere in my throat. Peeta's not slow, but it's clear that his false leg is holding him back and Finnick Odair is the first the reach the cornucopia, followed closely by Enobaria. I see Finnick go straight for the trident, and strangely, he slings the bow and sheath of arrows over his shoulder on the way.

The camera splits into four screens. One shows Johanna Mason and she narrowly misses Gloss, who lunges for her at ankles as they near the cornucopia. Another one remains trained on Finnick and Enobaria. The third shows the man from three running toward the outcropping of trees. The fourth shows Peeta and that is the one I watch. He grabs a knife on his way to the cornucopia but stops dead in his tracks when he hears a scream.

Johanna has reached Finnick and they both seem to be fending off Gloss and Enobaria, who have obviously made some sort of alliance prior to the Games starting.

I watch the camera focused on the woman from 8, who is running as fast as she can away from the man from 10, who seems to have found a small dagger not too far from the platforms. Peeta is sprinting after him and my stomach drops. He's going to try to save her and it makes me so incredibly frustrated and scared that I begin to get light headed.

_Why the hell does he have to be the hero? Why can't he just save himself and come home? Like I told him? _

Peeta's body slams into the man from 10 and together they tumble to the sandy ground. The woman from 8 pauses when she sees this and confusion is all I really see in her eyes.

"Run Cecelia!" Peeta yells as he struggles with the man from 10, pinning him to the ground. The man from 10 has to be around 40. He has long, graying hair and he's rather wiry which works in Peeta's favor. The man is really no match for Peeta, who pins 10 easily, but the man's long legs kick beneath him, making it hard for Peeta to hold on.

Cecelia pauses for an instant before running straight at Peeta, and for a moment, the fury in her eyes makes me believe she is going to try to kill him.

"Peeta! You're knife—give it to me," she says, brown eyes dark. Peeta's gaze doesn't leave the man from 10 but I know he's heard her.

On another screen, I see that Johanna and Finnick seem to have taken control of the cornucopia and the Careers pause in their efforts, apparently deciding between fighting back or making a run for it.

Cecelia is cautiously approaching Peeta as he struggles to keep 10 still.

"It's in my belt. I can't…I need to hold him down," Peeta says through gritted teeth as the man from 10 grunts in his efforts to throw Peeta off. Cecelia reaches for Peeta's knife and the action distracts Peeta just enough for the man from 10 to shove Peeta to the side and sink the dagger into Cecelia's chest.

"No!" Peeta shouts, reaching toward Cecelia, and the man from 10 swings around, slicing Peeta across the shoulder, too far away to do any real damage. The same can't be said for Cecelia, who has collapsed onto the ground, pressing at her wound with trembling fingers. A dark puddle is seeping into the sand around her and her eyes glaze over.

Peeta's face turns to stone once he sees her and he turns around so quickly I'm sure it must be painful with his leg. He pulls another knife from his belt and lurches forward, knocking 10 to the ground in the process. Peeta holds the dagger to the man's throat but doesn't move.

_He won't kill him will he? _

Ten tries to swing forward with his knife again, and out of instinct Peeta shoves his dagger, hilt deep, into 10's chest before scrambling away. He switches his gaze between Cecelia and 10, unsure of where he should pay most attention, his chest heaving and his brow dripping sweat, the desert sun pounding down on him.

Ten attempts to get up but out of nowhere an axe flies over Peeta's head, landing in 10's stomach. Johanna runs forward, kicking him to the ground and yanks the axe out of 10's gut in the process. I can't watch as the blood seeps out, 10 lying dead in the sand.

I watch Peeta instead as he crawls towards Cecelia's body.

"Cecelia," Peeta says. "Cecelia." His shoulder wound looks painful but Peeta doesn't register.

"Leave her, 12. It's over," Johanna says but Peeta doesn't move, instead touching the woman's face.

"Seriously, 12. We've got to get going, I'm not about to lose Finnick to the Careers. They've already finished 5 and 6."

Peeta's eyes glaze over and he finally looks back at Johanna, who is cleaning the blood off of Peeta's knife with her jacket sleeve, axe already hanging from her belt.

_All business. _

"I'm sorry," Peeta says to no one in particular, leaning back on his haunches.

"Yeah, well you should be. That shoulder is going to be killing you soon and we might not have enough water to clean it," Johanna observes, glancing back at Finnick who is making his way toward them, armed with a trident and the bow and arrows.

Peeta winces as he gets up, the sudden movement drawing attention to his shoulder.

"Yup," Johanna says, uncaring. "That's what you get for playing the hero."

Peeta looks at her, jaw setting. She hands him the dagger and readjusts the axe on her belt.

"We need to get to those trees," Finnick observes as he nears them. "There are no backpacks or anything. Just weapons."

Peeta nods and takes the bow and arrows from Finnick.

I exhale loudly.

_He's survived the bloodbath. He's allied with 4 and 7._

Four loud cannon shots echo throughout the arena as the three of them make their way towards the closest set of trees.


	17. Chapter 17

I breathe through my nose. _In, out. In, out_. His shoulder wound doesn't appear to be that bad. The camera keeps cutting to it to fill the ensuing silence as Finnick, Johanna and Peeta walk through the desert towards one of the outcroppings of thickly packed trees. The camera backs away, giving us a birds eye view of the entire arena. The cornucopia remains in the desert, which is completely barren and situated to the west. The snow-capped mountains loom far to the east and in between them are the pockets of dense vegetation.

"I'm guessing those forests are where they're gonna find food and water. That desert's completely empty," Haymitch says.

I turn to look at him; he's staring at the screen.

"Yes," I croak before joining him. "They're all going there."

"But there are four different forested areas, Katniss," Madge observes. "They can't all go to the same one. That man from 3 is headed towards the one all the way to the left. The careers are going to the one all the way to the right. From the looks of it Peeta and his allies are headed for either of the two middle ones."

All I can do is nod.

The screen is, again, split into four. The top right shows Enobaria and Gloss taking inventory of their weapons. Gloss is sporting a nasty looking black eye but apart from that, the duo seems to be relatively unscathed. The top left shows Beetee, alone and weaponless, slowly making his way towards the trees.

The bottom right shows the woman from 9, who I had completely forgotten existed up until now, still mingling around the cornucopia. Apparently she had run in the opposite direction, away from trees and mountains, only to realize there is nothing there. She's picking her way through what remains by the cornucopia. There's nothing. The Gamemakers were stingy this year.

The bottom left segment of screen shows Finnick, Johanna and Peeta walking swiftly towards the trees. This is the screen I watch.

"What was his name?" Peeta asks after a while.

"Who?" Finnick replies, twirling his trident in his right hand.

"The man from 10," Peeta says with a grimace.

"Why? It's not like you finished him off. That honor goes to me, I think," Johanna says as she wipes the sweat off her brow. Peeta remains silent.

"Maybe you should stretch your shoulder, Peeta. He didn't slice you too deep but you still want to make sure you can shoot," Finnick offers as a change of subject. "There's no one around us. Now's the best time to practice."

"Good idea," Peeta agrees, pulling out the bow and arrow, wincing slightly from the movements to his shoulder.

I can feel Haymitch's eyes on the back of my head. Obviously he knows I must have taught Peeta this skill but I don't turn around to confirm. If the Capitol knows I have a weapon stored in the house it can only mean bad news. Then again, how else would I have taught Peeta? I try not to think about it.

"Are you any good?" Johanna asks, eying him silently.

"Not really," Peeta responds. He stings an arrow and aims for the sand a few feet in front of him, releasing the arrow while maintaining a steady walking pace. Peeta isn't bad. But he isn't great. His aim is pretty shotty but he sends arrows flying with enviable ease. I attribute it to his upper body strength. At least if he's in a scuffle, and his attacker is within 25 feet, he could deliver a deadly shot. Still, I'm silently thankful that he has an extra dagger stored in his belt.

"I never got the hang of weapon training," Peeta continues, picking up his arrow from the sand.

"Right. Arts and crafts is more your thing. I would knock it but it kind of saved your life last time," Finnick says.

"Katniss saved me last time," Peeta corrects with a small smile. I flinch.

"Don't be so humble, 12," Johanna scoffs. "Your way with words and that hot bod won't save you this time."

Peeta almost drops the bow completely before barking out a laugh.

"My _hot bod_? What does that have to do with anything?" Peeta asks, his face reddening.

"Maybe that's the reason Katniss saved you. Maybe she just wanted to take it for a little test ride. Obviously it's worked well if she's decided to keep you," Johanna smirks and I want to disappear into the couch cushions as Haymitch laughs behind me. I've never met this girl but I have the sudden urge to send an arrow through her eye. Peeta turns so red he looks purple.

"Well I see you've completely thrown your old strategy out the window," Peeta says, stringing another arrow. "You can't really play the 'cowardly victim' card twice in a row."

Finnick, who has been snickering during this entire exchange, laughs whole-heartedly from his place behind Johanna and Peeta.

"Aww, Jo! You'll always be a cowardly victim to me!" he says before jogging forward and planting a big, wet kiss on her cheek. Peeta grins. Johanna pushes Finnick off, brandishing her axe at him with a menacing glare, which Finnick immediately laughs off. Peeta shoots another arrow. Unfortunately for the Gamemakers, there isn't a lot going on but I guess that's what they get for making the trees so far from the Cornucopia. Although I know they did it for a reason.

The screen with Peeta now fills the television. This is normal for the Games. When there's little going on, or too much going on, the Gamemakers air live footage of whatever the tribute from each corresponding District is doing. It's called District-Relevant Programming.

"I hate this thing," Peeta complains after a while, stowing the arrows in his sheath as they finally near the trees. They've been on the move for a few hours and during this time Prim has forced me to eat a piece of bread and drink some tea. I know this is the calm before the storm. That something bad awaits them in those trees so I take advantage of it. It's hard though: drinking and eating when Peeta is sweating, dehydrated, and sunburned in that completely barren desert.

Madge and Haymitch are still here and they too were forced to eat something by a very insistent Prim. Gale arrived as well and he sits in the corner on a stiff-backed kitchen chair. Haymitch drops his sandwich, however, when the screen splits and shows Beetee push his way into the dense vegetation. He's slower than Peeta's group so he only has about a five-minute head start on them, even if they are headed towards two different tree pockets.

It's incredibly dark inside the trees and the setting sun doesn't help with the visibility. The ground seems to be covered in vines and creepers and Beetee picks his way through, keeping his eyes focused ahead. He walks a little farther but strangely stops after only about two minutes of walking and follows his footsteps out, making his way back into the desert.

"What the hell is he doing that for?" Gale asks.

I turn to him. He looks worn and the bags under his eyes are deep. He's covered in coal dust and gives me a tight smile, one I assume is supposed to be supportive. I smile back. At least I try to. He's just trying to be a good friend and probably silently trying to apologize for last night.

"Probably realized it's safer in the desert," Haymitch responds for me. "It's bound not to be pretty in those trees. But the draw is that there's no water or food anywhere else."

Gale nods and everyone turns their attention back to the screen. Peeta, Finnick and Johanna have just reached the trees.

"What should we do?" Peeta asks, slinging the bow over his shoulder and reaching for his dagger.

"Go in together," Finnick responds immediately. "I'll go first. You follow me, Jo. Peeta, you take up the rear."

Johanna and Peeta share a look before nodding and follow Finnick into the dark.

This group of trees is equally as shadowy as the one Beetee went into and seems to be covered in the same type of vines and shrubbery. The trees are so thickly packed that it's almost impossible to see very far. I'm guessing that the trees are about one square mile for each pocket.

"Holy shit it's dark," Johanna whispers. "Can you hear anything?"

"No," Peeta whispers back. "Can you see anything Finnick?"

"Not really. Just…stay on guard," he responds.

"Obviously," Johanna mutters but she grips her axe a little tighter.

The trio walks silently on and I feel Prim take a hold of my hand as I release a low breathe. I can feel my heart beat slowly, thumping loudly in my chest. I press my hand there, pushing, hoping to still it.

"Stop," Finnick says and Peeta and Johanna cease their movements.

"What is it?" Peeta asks.

"Water," Finnick replies.

Just through the trees is a clearing with a large pond. Johanna and Peeta move next to Finnick.

"Is it OK to drink?" Johanna asks and Finnick shrugs.

"Only one way to find out," he says. "What can we use to drink this out of?"

"My sheath. I'll just hold the arrows. But we have to be quick because otherwise I don't think I'd be able to hold everything and defend myself at the same time," Peeta responds.

"Give me the sheath," Johanna says and Peeta obliges, clutching the arrows in one hand and gripping the dagger in the other. Johanna approaches the pond and dips the sheath into the water before pulling away quickly. She sniffs, looks back at Finnick and Peeta, and shrugs.

"Seems fine," she says before taking a large sip. They wait for some sign of distress but none comes. Johanna goes to fill up the sheath again, this time dipping her whole arm deep into the pond to fill the sheath to the brim.

Suddenly the pond starts to ripple in the middle, a series of quick splashes make their way toward where Johanna remains and something latches onto her arm. She screams, pulls the sheath, water spilling out the opening. But they seem to be more concerned with the large fish, teeth white and razor-sharp, squirming and still attacked to Johanna's bicep.

Finnick rushes forward, pries the fish free, and tosses it to the side. Johanna curses loudly, clutching her bleeding arm.

"What the hell was that?" she shouts angrily. "Shit!"

"Johanna, press some moss into that. There's some hanging off the trees," Peeta whispers, moving to comfort the obviously distressed woman in front of him. Johanna groans loudly and moves to the trees, pulling the moss off the trunk.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Johanna asks Peeta, glaring.

Peeta runs his fingers over the moss, contemplating the answer.

"I think so," he says. "This is a different climate than District 12 but I think it'll be OK. Looks the same."

I look quickly to Prim, who I know schooled Peeta on different types of plants in the weeks before Games. She gives me a small smile and nods.

"We need to fill this again. Peeta?" Finnick says. Peeta looks toward Finnick, his blue eyes shiny in the dark. He's worried.

"Can you fill this? Slowly. If another one of those fish comes along I'll spear it. We can eat them."

Peeta nods, swallowing thickly. He drops his arrows and bow on the ground next to Johanna, who looks more angry than she does hurt. It seems a single fish can't do a lot of harm but I'm beginning realize that wasn't the Gamemakers' intention. If they didn't have the sheath they would have had to drink from the pond directly and I cringe thinking of the way one of those fish could attach itself to a face. They're trying to make it exceedingly difficult to get water. And food. Maybe that's their plan for this year: to make The Hunger Games as literal as possible. My heart beats loud in my chest and I feel dizzy at the sight of Peeta putting himself in obvious danger. I also don't trust that one of his weapons is so close to Johanna. Mostly because I don't trust _her_.

"Here goes nothing," Peeta laughs but it doesn't reach his eyes. He dips the sheath into the pond slowly, careful not to upset the water. He manages to get it relatively full before the ripples start and he rips his arm away, keeping the sheath upright.

Finnick's eyes are glued to the pond and once the splashes are close enough to the shoreline he drives his trident into the water, never letting go, and pulls back smiling.

A toothy fish wriggles uselessly on one of the spokes.

Peeta, ever the gentleman, turns around and offers the sheath to Johanna.

"Thanks," she says, an uncharacteristic look of gratitude on her face. Johanna drinks the water and hands the empty sheath back to Peeta, who goes straight for the pond again.

"Finnick, ready?" Peeta asks. Finnick nods, they repeat the process and are rewarded with another fish. Peeta offers the sheath to Finnick but Finnick insists Peeta drink this time, pointing to his wounded shoulder. They keep this up until all three of them have drunk at least four sheaths of water.

"I don't trust this place after dark," Finnick observes. Peeta agrees and Johanna nods, her wound from earlier no longer leaking blood. Peeta puts the arrows back in the sheath and Finnick gathers the fish they've managed to accumulate. The three of them make their way back out of the trees just as the sun has set completely. Finnick sheds his jacket and puts the fish on top of it.

"We need to make a fire," Johanna states.

"But the Careers," Peeta points out and Johanna shakes her head at him.

"There are three of us. Two of them. Plus it's getting cold."

I don't blame Peeta for thinking this way. It was engrained into our heads last time never to make fires in the dark. We were the underdogs. But it's true that it would be stupid for the Careers to attack these three.

"She's right. Let's go grab something to make some kindling with," Finnick says.

While Johanna sits guarding of the weapons, Peeta and Finnick skirt around the edge of the trees, breaking off low-rising branches and pulling off sheets of bark. It doesn't look like these types of branches and things will be able to start a fire. They have no matches and I can see goose bumps rising on Peeta's neck. He's not one to get cold easily, he's always so warm, so I know it must be freezing.

Once they've gathered enough tree branches and the like they move back to Johanna who sits, shivering in the sand.

"Put your jacket on Finnick. You're useless if you've got hyperthermia," Johanna says with zero amount of emotion. The fish are piled on Johanna's lap but she hands them to Peeta once he's close enough.

"Hold these. I'm good at making fires," she says as she starts to gather the bits and pieces of wood they've collected. Silently, she takes a stick, sharpening the edge slightly with a knife, before rubbing it between her palms quickly on top of some bark.

"Once it starts to smoke, start putting the bark closer. It's not damp, which is good. But it's not super dry. You all are lucky I'm awesome at this," Johanna says with a smile, and yes, it starts to smoke. Before long they've managed to create a fairly large fire.

"Impressive, Jo," Finnick says before tweaking her nose. She swats him away and grabs a few fish from Peeta, putting them close to the fire.

I rub my eyes. I think the only way I'm as calm as I am is because they haven't encountered any other Tributes for the rest of the day but I know that can only last so long. They might not have any time to rest, actually. Just as I'm thinking it, the anthem starts to play and the face of the District 5 tribute fills the sky.

Prim hasn't let go of my hand and I let mine hang limply in hers. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I glance at Haymitch, surprised that he's been here the whole day. His expression is vacant. I don't know what he's thinking. I notice Madge isn't here any more.

"When did Madge leave?" I ask the room.

"Around the time they left the trees," Gale responds and I look to him. He's still sitting in the corner. I feel bad for not saying goodbye to Madge when she is so obviously supportive.

"Thanks for coming, Gale," I say, unable to explain in detail just how much it means that my best friend hasn't abandoned me yet. After everything that we've been through and the way that I've hurt him I'm surprised he hasn't left. But then again I wouldn't leave my hunting partner either.

"Sure thing, Catnip," he says softly and, partly because I have no idea what else to say to him, I look back at the screen. The three of them are eating the fish quietly, seemingly lost in their own thoughts. When they're done, they bury the bones in the sand and Johanna leaves to get more branches and bark for the fire.

"You two should sleep. I won't be able to," Peeta says quietly to Finnick.

"Are you sure? I can—" Finnick starts but is immediately interrupted by Peeta again.

"Trust me. I won't be able to sleep unless I'm absolutely exhausted," Peeta says before sighing. "I can't."

My heart aches in this moment. Deeply. I want to pull him out of the screen and warm his hands in mine. I want to fall asleep on this couch to the beat of his heart. Strong and steady and _real_, just like him.

Johanna comes back and piles what she's gathered onto the fire before lying down next to Finnick.

"Wake one of us up when you're tired, OK?" Finnick asks.

"Alright," Peeta affirms, adjusting himself closer to the fire, spreading his bad leg out in front of him and my chest twists painfully. I'm tired but I can't sleep. Prim's nodding off next to me and I settle her head on my shoulder. I look back to Haymitch who is taking a pull of his flask. Gale shifts in his seat.

"I'll watch if you want to sleep, Catnip. I promise I'll wake you up if…" he trails off but I shake my head at him.

"I won't be able to," I reply. I won't sleep without Peeta. Especially not now. "But Gale, you need to get up tomorrow. You need to work," I say and he drops his eyes to his lap.

"I know," he says, running his hand through his hair. "I just feel bad. For…" He doesn't finish, probably because Haymitch is in the room, but he doesn't have to. He's sorry for last night. And he should be sorry. But I can't deal with this now.

"Go, Gale," I plead quietly, but as kindly as I can. The last thing I need is people worrying over me. The last thing I need is a tired Gale because working in the mines is dangerous enough without sleep deprivation.

He must know this because he doesn't question me.

I look back at the screen and find Peeta in the lower left-hand corner, staring up at the stars. Gloss and Enobaria are in the upper right, also bunking down for the night. Beetee is still wandering around some trees. The woman from nine is in the middle of the desert, buried under the sand in a last ditch effort for some warmth. Peeta closes his eyes briefly and his lashes make shadows on his cheeks. He opens them again, looking up at the multitude of bright stars. I have the sudden urge to get up off the couch and go look at the stars in the District 12 sky. _Because we'd be looking at the same ones_. But I can't stop watching him. He's too small on the screen and I can't appreciate his face the way I want to. I can't see the pale freckles I know dance across the bridge of his nose. Or the birthmark on the side of his neck. He stares off into space and he looks to be deep in thought.

After a short while he starts to trace patterns in the sand at his feet, a series of letters. The camera focuses in on only him again but I still have to screw my eyes to see the word properly.

D-A-N-D-E-L-I-O-N

He smiles slightly but I can't return it. He's reminding me.

_I won't let you down, Katniss._

_There's still hope_.

* * *

I'm shaken awake by Haymitch. At some point I must have passed out and I'm about to yell at him for letting me fall asleep in the first place when I hear a rush of expletives coming from the television.

The sand from the desert is whipping around Peeta, Johanna and Finnick like sheets of rain and they struggling to run faster towards another group of trees. They had been on the move, apparently, because they're no longer next to the forest.

"Things were quiet for too long. Gamemakers must have gotten bored," Haymitch explains. It's just the two of us in my living room now and I glance briefly out the window. It's light outside so it must be early morning.

"I can't open my eyes long enough to see where the hell we're going!" Johanna shouts angrily as she stumbles forward. The camera backs away, alerting the audience to the fact that they're heading towards another group of trees. It cuts to the woman from 9 and then to Beetee, both of whom are also stumbling that way.

Peeta's bow is slung around his good shoulder and he uses one hand to shield his eyes from the sand. He's slower than the others because of his leg and I'm brought back momentarily to the beach in four before I erase that image from my mind.

_I'll keep that a happy place._

"Jo," Finnick calls. "I can see green. Head towards the trees! Straight ahead!"

They clamber on and once the three of them push through the thick branches they fall to the ground, spitting sand and rubbing at their eyes.

"Get up," Peeta says after a few minutes. "Be ready. There might be something in here."

Finnick positions his trident in front of him while Johanna stands up, fingering her axe. As the three of them head deeper into the forest I ask Haymitch without taking my eyes away from the screen.

"Where is everyone?"

I hear him sigh behind me.

"Your sister went to school. She had to. Mandatory," he explains. "The Undersee girl left while you were still awake, remember? And tall, dark and handsome is probably in the mines," he says tipping his flask back to take a sip. "God knows where your mother is," he adds.

"Why are you still here," I ask. I mean for it to come out sharp and biting, I'm still mad at him, but the end of the sentence ends somewhere in my throat. I look back at Haymitch but he's staring at the screen, watching as Peeta rubs at the seam of his prosthetic. I join him, already accepting his non-answer, so when he speaks I'm slightly surprised.

"Because you two are all I've got," he says. The blood pounds in my head and I don't look back to him.

After some time Peeta, Finnick and Johanna reach a very shallow stream. I don't think there are any fish in this one—you can see straight to the bottom. It can't be more than a foot deep. Peeta takes the arrows out of the sheath and hands it over to Finnick, who gathers some water, tastes it, and deems it drinkable.

"What's with this arena?" Johanna asks, frustrated.

"What's with your bad attitude, missy?" Finnick retorts as he passes the sheath to Johanna. She ignores the comment.

"Did I tell you about the time Johanna got so drunk she actually _smiled_, Peeta?" Finnick asks and Peeta raises an eyebrow, smirking.

"That must have been magical," Peeta says, taking a drink from the newly filled sheath.

"Yeah, well did I—" Johanna begins to retort but is cut off a blood-curdling scream. Peeta drains the sheath, stores the arrows and pulls the bow off his shoulder. The three are silent, ears trained for the source of the sound. The screen on the television cuts into two: one focused on the trio, the other focused on the woman from nine, bright red hair flying behind her. She's followed closely by some sort of massive black cat that's emitting such grotesque screeches that the hairs on my arms stand on end. I hold my breath.

The screens becomes one again as the woman from 9 tumbles into view followed by the enormous cat, teeth bared and ripping at her heels.

"Shoot, Peeta!" Finnick yells over the noise. Peeta falters. They're not close enough for him to hit the monster and I know he's scared of hitting the redhead. Johanna braces herself for another attack, looking wildly around for another cat but as of now, this is the only one.

"Wait," Peeta says under his breath. He pulls the arrow back and once the two of them—woman and creature—come within 20 yards, he releases the string.

He misses.

"Shit," he mutters, but he's already got another arrow pulled back and when he releases this time, he hits the cat on the side, sticking between the ribs.

The cat lurches to the side, growling angrily, giant amber eyes flicking to it's new wound. It gets up more slowly this time, it's new target Peeta and not the woman from 9, who is now silently pressed against the trees. The cat moves closer, stalking, ears pressed against it's enormous skull. Slowly it moves towards Peeta but he waits, arrow aimed at the cat. I want to yell at him to _just shoot already_ and just when the cat's no more than 15 feet away, Peeta lets it fly, this time hitting a spot deep in the cat's neck. It would be an impressive shot but the look in Peeta's eyes tells me he's just as shocked of his good aim as I am.

This hit was deadly and blood drips down the cat's neck in heavy rivulets before it collapses on the ground.

Peeta's strung another arrow before he looks to Johanna and Finnick, both at a loss for words. Finnick is just about to open his mouth when there's another deep growl from somewhere around them.

Heads swivel and suddenly it's not one growl but two, three, maybe four, coming from all around the tiny stream where they still stand.

The woman from 9 remains completely silent against the tree, eying the stream like some sort of salvation. This is when I realize she has been stuck in the desert since the cornucopia, weaponless and too frightened to venture into any of the trees by herself.

Her thirst is too much, apparently, and she crawls her way towards the stream on heavy arms, neck craning.

No one moves to stop her and that's when they strike.

Nine dies immediately, one of the enormous black cats shaking her neck back and forth until it hangs at an ugly angle from it's mouth. The cannon booms.

Finnick hurls his trident straight for that cat that has cornered him and it lands with a satisfying crunch through its jaw. Johanna is cautiously approaching one of the things, circling around it warily. They're slippery creatures, agile and hard to catch at a bad angle.

Finnick is already pulling his trident from the cat's skull and moving on to the next one. But all of this has been in the periphery of my mind because the only person I can really focus on is Peeta.

It seems my muscles have hardened to rocks and I grip the arm of the couch tightly. He has barely any time to prepare for the beast's lunge before it's on him. Claws meet flesh and Peeta cries out as the cat rips open the wound on Peeta's shoulder. He kicks it hard under it's belly and the cat screeches.

The arrows are useless at this point so Peeta finds the dagger tucked safely into his belt. Not before the cat swipes again, though, grazing his cheek and neck. Peeta gasps out a curse, struggling to get the cat still enough to strike.

Finnick has finished off the second cat, this time with a trident to the spine, before he shouts something at Johanna or Peeta—I can't be sure. Johanna is struggling with her cat. She's sliced it a series of times and has weakened it considerably. That's probably why Finnick rushes to Peeta. The sudden movement distracts the cat enough for Peeta to thrust his dagger into the cat's jugular, running the knife through the skin to deepen the wound.

The cat makes a gurgling grunt, spraying blood everywhere—coating Peeta completely—before collapsing heavily on top of him. Finnick turns quickly and casts his trident straight into Johanna's cat, killing it instantaneously.

There is a moment of silence and all is quiet. Johanna and Finnick breathe heavily and share a look while Peeta heaves the dead cat off of him, crying out in pain. The camera pans to his shoulder and I'm suddenly sick.

This cut is deep. Not deep enough to see bone, not like the cut that cost him his leg, but deep _enough_. Deep enough to bring me back _there_, finding him in the mud, the gash on his leg tattooed behind my eyes. My mind races as Finnick runs to him. It's hard to even see where the cut begins and ends because of the amount of blood Peeta's covered in. It reminds me of the night of the announcement when I found him covered in paint in his studio.

I haven't realized my hands are shaking.

"Come here," Finnick says, taking Peeta's uninjured side, lifting him onto his feet, which are miraculously still fine. The sudden movement is too much for Peeta though and he stumbles, landing into the stream.

"Well, that's where we were going wasn't it?" Peeta breathes. No one laughs.

Johanna has cleaned her axe and Finnick's trident. She walks towards the trees, grabbing moss quickly, before returning to the stream. Peeta's completely submerged, save his head, and the blood comes quickly from his shoulder.

"Get him out. We need to cover his shoulder," Johanna says. Her fish bite from yesterday is nothing but a large scab today. Finnick nods, lifting Peeta into a sitting position and Johanna starts wrapping.

"How do you feel?" she asks him, voice hard and monotone. Peeta nods wordlessly, still shaken up.

"Alright," he murmurs. "I'm alright, actually. I don't think I can shoot that damn thing for a while, though," he says, pointing to the forgotten bow.

"Well you were surprising good with it for that short time," Finnick nods with a smile. I can't tell if he's relieved. I don't even know why they're still allied with Peeta because now would be a very good time to leave him. He's vulnerable, injured.

But they stay, quietly taking turns drinking out of Peeta's sheath. I've subconsciously counted the arrows—11. The only one lost was the one he missed when he shot at the cat the first time.

"Last time it was giant dogs," Peeta says after a while. "This time giant cats. I'm beginning to think the Gamemakers don't want me to have a pet."

"They don't want you to have anything!" Johanna snaps. Peeta's eyes widen at her outburst. Johanna is one for short words and mean comments, yes, but nothing like this. Nothing so openly…rebellious.

"And once you do, they'll take it away. I wouldn't be surprised if they've already taken Katniss, Peeta. Taken her away. Forever. And if you win, and you go back…watch how she won't be there. She'll be gone."

Finnick stares at Johanna with wide eyes but Johanna just stares at Peeta, pale and slightly crazed. Peeta's gone completely still, the color drained from his face.

"Jo," Finnick says soothingly, though his eyes are giving off a strange warning. "You're dehydrated. Drink this," he continues, offering the sheath to Johanna who is still visibility upset. She shoves the sheath away, spilling water over Finnick's jacket.

"It's true! It's true and you know it, Finnick! What did you have, huh?" Johanna is shouting now, her voice ringing through the trees. For a moment, Finnick's face turns completely blank. But the moment is gone before I can truly realize it was there to begin with.

"You have a cut on your leg, Jo," Finnick whispers, voice oddly fragile. "Sit down. I'll get you some moss."

Johanna flinches momentarily and then sits next to Peeta at the stream. His face is still pale and his eyes are glassy.

"_I'm here!" _I want to shout at him._ "No one's taken me. I'll be here when you get back! I'm waiting for you, you stupid boy!"_

But he's _not_ stupid. Not at all. Because he knows the thought of the Capitol, of _Snow_, ripping me away from here for no reason other than to hurt Peeta doesn't seem too strange. It's right on target, actually.

Johanna glances at him before adjusting the moss on his shoulder. She doesn't apologize but she takes his hand and squeezes, not letting go until Finnick comes back to tend to her leg.

* * *

Prim makes me eat again at nightfall. Madge has come back. So has Gale. Haymitch hasn't left from his straight-backed chair behind the kitchen. I haven't left from my seat on the couch. Mother has yet to make an appearance.

During Peeta, Finnick and Johanna's downtime they show clips we've missed while tuning into District Relevant Programming.

Gloss and Enobaria are still allies. They're camped outside of the outcropping of trees next to where Peeta is. They've had their fair share of troubles as well. The sandstorm blinded Gloss in one eye and the jungle they're currently outside of contains jabberjays that imitate the voices of people. Enobaria was relatively unaffected by this little trick but Gloss ran around, knocking himself unconscious in an effort to find whoever it was that was calling his name.

Chaff, who I forgot was still alive, was extremely dehydrated but found his way to the forest with the aggressive fish. That's where he is now, with multiple, really ugly bite wounds to his face.

The man from 3 is current outside the same forest as Peeta and his allies. Apparently he never went in completely after the sandstorm. He's in relatively good shape, actually. He's been eating the leaves off of the trees on the outskirts of the forest and has been sucking on roots for water. It's not great but he's still alive and virtually unscathed. _Because he's smart._ He's been circling the perimeter for some time, apparently waiting for the proper moment to come in. But it's dark and, not trusting these trees anymore than they did last night, the trio has decided to leave.

Johanna almost slices the man in half when she sees him but for some reason holds back.

"District 3," Johanna taunts. "Give us one good reason we shouldn't kill you now."

Johanna touches her axe and gives the man a sweet smile but Finnick steps forward.

"Because he's somehow managed no wounds," Finnick says simply. "He's still alive and doesn't seem to be dehydrated or hungry. How'd you manage that, Beetee?"

The man named Beetee's pale skin has taken on a red tinge from being out in the sun for such long hours and he looks preoccupied, which is normal I guess, given the situation. Peeta looks between the three of them, unsure of what to do. His shoulder is still wrapped tightly in the moss.

"Common logic," Beetee says softly. "It's all pretty simple if you think about it," he continues and Johanna narrows his eyes at him. Beetee backs away.

"The desert is a wasteland, but relatively safe. The trees hold food and water but are dangerous. Very, actually," he says, eying Peeta's shoulder and Johanna's leg. Finnick has a couple of scrapes on his face and neck as well. "I'm weaponless, unlike you three, so I'd stand no chance in the forests. I've been eating the leaves on the outskirts, listening at night for signs of trouble."

Peeta swallows and shares a look with Finnick.

"I know we need to get to those mountains," Beetee continues. "The Gamemakers will just drive us there by themselves. It's what happened this morning with the sandstorm. They're driving us closer."

"Why there?" Peeta asks.

"Hard to tell. Although I'm sure it will be a spectacle, what with the entertainment value," Beetee muses.

"You still haven't answered my question," Johanna scoffs. "Why should we keep you alive?"

"Because I know the fastest way to those mountains. And if we get there before the others we'll have an advantage. We can size up the area, become familiar with it. Plus you three are the largest allied group. Chaff, from District 11, is still by himself. Then there are the Careers."

"Where are the Careers?" Finnick asks.

"Probably in the trees somewhere to the right. Not in here, though. I've circled a few times."

"I think we should keep him," Peeta says.

_Of course you do_, I think.

"I don't think he's lying about the mountains—it only makes sense," he continues. "Why else would they put them here? Also, it's true that it would be advantageous to get there first. If we could familiarize ourselves with the area it could only work to our benefit."

Johanna is scowling deeply and Finnick looks resigned. Peeta, with his logical words, wins again.

"Alright," Finnick agrees. "As soon as the sun rises we'll go. It's not safe to wander around in the dark. And we're not going in there again," he says, pointing to the forest behind him. "I know there are more of those damn cats and I'm not about to try and fight them off in the dark."

Johanna huffs and plants herself in the sand a few yards from the trees.

"You go collect the shit for the fire, 3," she says. "Make yourself useful."

Finnick goes to help Beetee and Peeta arranges the weapons next to Johanna, wincing as he sits down.

Johanna arranges herself delicately, careful of how she folds her leg.

"Does your shoulder sting as bad as my leg?" she nearly whispers. Peeta pauses before answering and in the setting sun it's hard to see his expression.

"Yeah," he responds. "Too much. I feel kind of nauseous as well."

Johanna's eyebrows come together and she begins lifting away the moss on her leg only to reveal an angry looking cut, tinged greenish-yellow on the edges. It's not normal. Not at all. She replaces the makeshift bandage and peels back Peeta's. The same.

"I guess I should have known those wouldn't be like regular cats," Peeta jokes, failing miserably at trying to lighten the situation. It's hard to joke when you've been poisoned.


	18. Chapter 18

Peeta declines slowly and steadily—much faster than Johanna. Apparently his shoulder wound is too large and too deep in comparison to the one on her leg. I spend the night helplessly watching as he shivers and sweats despite the bone-chilling cold of the desert night. At one point Finnick offered to go back into the trees to find some water only to have Peeta tell him he wouldn't be able to keep the water down.

No one has left tonight: not Haymitch, not Gale, not Madge. Prim clutches my hand, gently stroking my arm as we silently watch the television. No one bothers to talk to me anymore because in the hours that Peeta's condition has worsened I've become mute.

Just as the light from the rising sun starts to peek over the mountains in the distance, Finnick speaks.

"We need to start moving now. I don't know how much longer Peeta will remain coherent."

At the mention of his name Peeta rolls onto his back, wincing when his shoulder hits the sand. His face is ashen and his eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep and pain. His normally golden hair is dark with sweat and stuck to his forehead.

"I can walk if you help me up," he murmurs, before taking a deep breath. "Maybe," he adds quietly.

My stomach rolls.

Peeta extends his good arm to Finnick who grips it tightly, bracing himself in the sand. Finnick may be taller and stronger but Peeta is not a small boy and probably still very heavy.

Johanna stands off to the side, careful not to place unneeded pressure on her leg. Watching the venom make it's way through Peeta has been taxing on her: she's skittish and surly, surely anticipating what she's in for. It must be unnerving for her to watch Peeta change so quickly while relatively nothing happens to her. Only in the last hour has she started to sweat.

Finnick pulls Peeta into an upright sitting position before slinging Peeta's good arm over his shoulder and hauling him to his feet. The sudden movement makes Peeta dizzy and he spends a few seconds righting the world.

"I'm alright," Peeta says, voice stronger. "I'm alright, just lead the way Beetee. We should just try to get there as soon as possible."

Beetee nods and starts in the direction of the mountains. My eyes don't leave Peeta as he trudges through the sand. He wears an oddly determined expression, teeth gritted in obvious pain. His face is pale—bordering on grey— and my anxiety over the matter has me feeling like I might vomit. Finnick carries the bow and arrows now; they're no use to Peeta anymore.

I close my eyes, for the first time in hours it seems, and exhale deeply. What do I do? I'm as useless as ever, sitting here in this warm house, completely healthy, watching on as Peeta gets sicker and sicker at the hands of a man who has everything. _At my hands_, I think. Because no matter what Peeta says or thinks, I still feel responsible this.

I bring the sea glass to my face, pressing it into my cheek.

_What do I do?_

Nothing. There's nothing I can do but hope. Hope they'll make it to the mountains in time. Hope there will be some sort of Capitolized antidote that will work wonders on Peeta's shoulder. Hope that he'll come back to me. Just _hope_ because as long as Peeta is still alive it's possible, even though it's becoming more and more difficult to convince myself of it.

I don't know how long I sit with my eyes closed, an hour, maybe. It's Finnick's distressed voice that tears me from my fitful thoughts.

"Shit," Finnick says and I open my eyes. He's hovering over Peeta, who has fallen to his knees and is dry- heaving into the sand. My breath catches in my throat and, like some sort of terrible train wreck, I'm unable to look away. Peeta makes a retching sound and my heart thumps loudly in my chest. Beetee glances to the left: they're close to another grouping of trees.

"He hasn't eaten anything, there's nothing left for him to throw up," Finnick explains to Johanna, who looks at him in worry. She's started to become paler now too, even in the short time they've been walking.

"Let's cut through this group of trees. Peeta needs water. And food. We all do. The effects of that venom will be disastrous if he doesn't eat or drink soon," Beetee explains, before pushing aside some branches and looking back towards his companions. Finnick nods wordlessly before turning to Johanna.

_Just say it_! I want to shout. _Just tell them to leave him there! I know you want to! _

Johanna turns from Finnick to Peeta, mouth set in a frown.

"Do you need help carrying him, Finnick?" she asks as she adjusts the axe on her belt.

"No. But you need to lead. I won't be able to defend us," he responds, and with that Finnick heaves Peeta onto his shoulder and they're off.

I honestly don't know what to think at this point. I keep expecting Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason to drop Peeta whenever the time is appropriate. After all, there can only be one Victor. But they keep him. And they're _helping_ him.

_Why?_

Johanna leads the group into the forest, which isn't as thickly packed with trees as the other two we've seen. The sun filters through the treetops, casting light on the tops of their heads. Peeta leans heavily on Finnick's shoulder as they work their way through the vines and creepers on the forest floor. Before long they reach a stream much like the one in the forest with the cat mutts. I've been on edge the entire Games, but having Peeta in unknown territory, likely close to danger makes my heart rattle against my ribs and a thick dread fill my bones.

Finnick helps Peeta sit before he empties the sheath of arrows and fills it with water.

"Peeta, think you can drink this?" Finnick asks. Peeta is slumped against the tree, blue eyes glassy and face pale as ever. He takes a large, labored breath before he shakes his head. The simple action was clearly exhausting for him.

"I don't think I can keep it down," he whispers. "I don't feel so great."

"You sweated a lot last night. You're dehydrated so that's adding to the nausea. You need to," Finnick presses, handing Peeta the sheath. Peeta's hands tremble as he holds the sheath, slowly bringing it to his lips. He continues to take small sips when he decides he can stomach it.

Finnick and Beetee watch him carefully but Peeta is able to keep the water down, surely because he was already so dehydrated. His body needed it.

Johanna drinks next, eyes never leaving Peeta's drooped form. She must be wondering when the venom will start coursing through her system as violently as it is through Peeta's. Finnick wanders around the stream, armed with his trident, looking for any new mutts that the Capitol has created; he seems just as confused as I feel that they've been left alone for the time being.

Johanna plants herself next to Peeta and offers him the sheath again.

"We need to change that moss," Beetee observes quietly, having already gathered some off of the surrounding trees. Peeta nods and closes his eyes as Beetee starts to pull the bandaging away from his shoulder.

I briefly consider turning away, remembering the way I barely handled the wound that cost Peeta his leg during our Hunger Games. I don't, though, because I feel as though it's my cross to bear as well. I did this to him. I pulled out those damn berries. I had to fall in love with him. I did this to him.

"Oh," Beetee breathes, as he pulls away the soiled moss.

I wish I had closed my eyes because seeing the state of Peeta's shoulder nearly derails me.

It's swollen and the gashes from the cat's claws have left the flesh slightly mangled. But it's the green tinge that the skin has taken that roils my stomach; it's beginning to fester. If I was worried before, I don't know what to call how I feel now.

"Well I can't see any bone so it's automatically better than my last Games, if you ask me," Peeta says. I should be annoyed at his attempt to lighten the situation but I can't help but feel strangely relieved. He hasn't tried to crack a joke since last night so it's obvious that the water has helped him.

"Still hurts, though," Peeta adds with a wince as Beetee wraps the clean moss around his shoulder. Johanna is silent as she cleans her leg herself. Her wound isn't as bad as Peeta's and therefore not as green or swollen.

Prim shifts beside me and I turn to her.

"How bad is it, Prim?" I whisper, my voice hoarse from lack of use. Prim pauses before answering, sympathy and fear evident in her gaze.

"I've never seen anything like that," she says. I can tell she wants to end the discussion here but there must be something in my eyes—desperation, maybe—that pushes her for more.

"I don't know," she says softly, squeezing my arm again.

I look to Gale and Madge for the first time in hours, pushing away my anxiety, and struggle for something to say to them.

_Thank you for being here?_

_Sorry for my complete inability to handle the current situation?_

Madge looks back at me, eyes tired, but she sits upright on her chair next to Gale, whose face is completely unreadable. He's looking at me, brows furrowed down. I turn back to the screen.

* * *

The group enjoys their time collecting themselves by the stream. None of them dare mention the lack of obstacles they've faced in this forested area for fear that they bring unwanted attention to the matter.

I'm about to ask Haymitch about it when I hear it.

_My_ scream rings through the forest.

Peeta's eyes widen and his mouth drops open in shock. He turns to Finnick, Johanna, and Beetee, mouth agape and limbs paralyzed with fear. They all seem to be just as shocked as he is. Peeta waits three seconds before moving.

"KATNISS!" he bellows as he struggles to get off the ground, my screams beginning to fill the forest completely, one pitiful sound after another.

"What's happening?" I ask Haymitch, a tremor in my voice. "What's going on?"

I turn quickly to Haymitch, my eyes wide and confused. Haymitch rubs at his face with his hands before answering.

"It's those damn jabberjays," he responds. "They're imitating your voice."

_Of course_, I think. How could I have forgotten? I was too wrapped up in Peeta's infected shoulder to pay attention to which forest they had decided to take refuge in. I remember the way Gloss ran through the forest and knocked himself unconscious. My stomach rises to my throat and I'm filled with a sort of trepidation I've never felt before.

Johanna tries to hold Peeta back as he gets up off the ground but he shoves her back and takes off into the trees with surprising speed considering his sickened state.

"Peeta!" the traitor Katniss wails.

"Katniss!" he screams back. "Katniss!"

Peeta stumbles on some creepers as he heads deeper into the forest. His eyes are wide and panicked, his face white despite the exertion of thundering through the trees. Everything is happening too fast. Peeta's running too fast. My thoughts are flying through my head too fast.

The screen splits in two now, finally showing the rest of the allies as they stand by the stream in confusion. Finnick is about to run after Peeta when another voice joins the mix, a woman, from the sounds of it. She doesn't say anything, no words are spoken, but her blood curdling screams are enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Finnick's face contorts and then he's off, following Peeta into the woods for a completely different reason.

"Annie!" he yells, running at breakneck speed through the trees, jumping over vines and rocks with an agility that Peeta cannot muster. I should be concerned, curious even, as to who this mystery woman is but Peeta has begun to cry and I can't focus on anything else anymore.

"Katniss!" he bawls, the sound breaking on his tongue and creating small fissures in my heart. He's slowed down, clumsily hitting trees, scraping at the bark with his fingers to gain balance. He's still so weak and he's used all of the little energy he had to try and find me. Peeta wails my name over and over, vainly staggering through the trees in search of me. I've never seen him this distressed, not during our Hunger Games, not when his name was called for the Quarter Quell, not even when he left me. I can't breathe because of it. I can't help him.

Suddenly the screen splits in three: Johanna and Beetee are still by the stream, arguing about what to do. I try to concentrate on their discussion, I think they've figured it out, but I'm too distracted by the tears streaming down Peeta's cheeks.

"Fuck," Johanna spits, limping after the two distraught men. She moves forward followed closely by Beetee, chasing the sound of Peeta and Finnick's hysterical voices. They're both close to the edge of the trees when Peeta's cries fade and he collapses in a heap, beginning to convulse violently.

In this moment my thoughts go from frantic to nonexistent, my mind strangely blank, as I watch Peeta's body shudder on the forest floor.

Prim's hand leaves mine and moves to my face. My body's shaking, I realize, and when I make eye contact with Prim a sob rips its way through my chest—it's the only sound in my silent house.

Johanna finds Peeta on the forest floor, tries to pick him up but fails. Beetee kneels down next to him, holding Peeta's head steady in his small hands.

"Find Finnick, get him out of the trees," Beetee orders calmly. I can tell that Johanna is put off by being ordered around by the older man but she limps off anyway, leaving Beetee to care for Peeta alone.

I watch in a frozen panic as Peeta's body seizes and his eyes rolled far back in his head. There's an intense pressure in my chest and my sobs can't find their way out of my mouth anymore. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion.

_I'm helpless. I can't help him. _

"Katniss," Prim says. I'm sure I look a wreck. I must, because I feel as though I'm being ripped in two. Prim, however, maintains some semblance of calm—after all, there has to be at least one Everdeen girl keeping her emotions in check during times like these. It's usually been me but as the events of the last few weeks have transpired Prim has begun to take the role more and more often. She tries to hide it but I can tell she's distressed and I can see the unshed tears behind her eyes.

"It's a seizure, Katniss," she whispers. "I don't—I don't know. It happens sometimes with Mother's patients." I grip her hand harder. _Tell me_, I urge her silently, struggling to find her eyes through my tears.

"It's not—sometimes they live."

Another sob finds it's way out of my mouth and I can feel the tears dropping into my lap. I have no idea what to do, I want to crawl out of my skin, but I watch on as Peeta continues to shake violently on the ground. This can't be it.

_Please_.

The screen splits again: showing that Johanna has managed to get Finnick out of the trees. He's putting up a massive fight but Johanna is screaming at him, threatening him with her axe.

"They're jabberjays, Finnick!" she shouts at him. "They're using Annie's voice to mess with you. They're using Katniss' voice to mess with Peeta."

Finnick stares at her, green eyes watery and wild.

"They've stopped now that you're out of the trees. Do you realize? Think!" Her arms grip Finnick's shoulders tightly. "They've stopped Finn. Look," she says, pointing to the trees. "See them?"

Sure enough, a few jabberjays are perched in the branches, pruning their feathers in silence, as if the world isn't ending. It is, though, because on the other screen Peeta's stopped moving.

My mind shuts down.

Beetee checks his pulse and sighs.

_SAY SOMETHING!_ I scream inwardly, _TELL ME HE'S BREATHING._ But my arms are locked at my sides, my jaw clenched painfully.

I feel a heavy arm around my shoulders and I turn quickly, surprised by the contact. Gale is next to me on the couch now, pulling me closer. I stare at him, begging him to give me an answer I want.

"His chest is rising, Catnip," he says quietly. A rush of air leaves my mouth and I start to cry again, hiccuping pathetically and gasping through my tears.

"Yeah?" I ask Gale, wiping at the wetness on my cheeks with the back of my hand, staring intently at the screen and not even bothering to try to calm myself down. Gale is right, though. Peeta's chest is rising and falling and _he's alive_.

Miraculously, he's still alive.

"Peeta's in trouble, Finn," Johanna continues and Finnick finally turns to her. "He's having a seizure," she swallows. "It's probably the venom and I can't lift him out of the forest. Do you understand?" she says slowly. Finnick changes now, becoming the protector once again and Johanna leads him back through the trees to Peeta's limp form.

"He's breathing," Beetee informs them when they arrive. "I think the venom and the emotional stress from the jabberjays were too much."

Finnick bends down and struggles to lift Peeta over his shoulder before they walk out of the trees. Finnick takes off his jacket and lays Peeta on top of it just as he starts to come to. Peeta moans out something incoherent and Johanna shushes him.

"You scared us," she says, voice hard, accusatory. Johanna's voice must make something register within Peeta because he jolts up suddenly, only to be pushed down by Finnick.

"Where is she?" Peeta slurs. "Where's Katniss? Let me up!" he says, becoming more hysterical with each word. His limbs, uncoordinated, push at the sand.

"No, Peeta. That was a trick. They were jabberjays programmed to imitate Katniss' voice," Finnick explains, as though he's still trying to believe it himself.

"No," Peeta shouts, angry now. "No it was her— That was her screaming. That was her calling my name. I know her," he says, out of breath and trying desperately to get back up despite his uncooperative limbs.

"Stop moving you idiot, you're making your shoulder worse," Johanna snaps. "And Finnick's right. That's why Beetee and I couldn't hear them. They were using Katniss' screams from her Hunger Games. They were using a girl named Annie on Finnick, she won a few years ago. They already have Katniss and Annie's screams on tape because they're both Victors. They've already made those sounds. Katniss screamed your name last time, didn't she?"

Peeta takes a second to process this, opening his mouth and then closing it before turning to Finnick for confirmation. Finnick remains silent, a strange look in his eyes.

"But you said," Peeta continues, turning to Johanna, shaken. "You said you wouldn't be surprised if they had her already."

Johanna makes an exasperated sound. She's about to continue arguing with Peeta, but Finnick interrupts them.

"Peeta," Finnick says quietly. "It's true. It wasn't them." The two men share a long look and I guess Peeta must believe Finnick because he finally lets the subject go.

Peeta closes his eyes and lets his head fall back in the sand, his blonde hair now streaked with dirt and grime. He focuses on breathing for a few moments and I try to do the same.

_He's still here. He's still alive. _

I inhale deeply, sniffling as my heart rate slows. The breath leaves my mouth in a shaky exhale. Gale's arm is still around my shoulder and I look up at him. His eyes are troubled and his mouth is set in a straight, thin line. I don't know what to say to him. I don't know how to express my gratitude correctly, so as always, I say something stupid.

"Shouldn't you be at the mines?" I ask him in a voice that's barely audible. He looks at me like I have four heads. _Maybe I do at this point_, I think. How else am I containing all these feelings? Gale shrugs, giving me a small smile despite the intensity of the situation.

"You don't just leave your hunting partner when they're in trouble," he says.

There's nothing I can add or take away from the statement, so I let it hang in the air between us. He's right. Through thick and thin, I will have his back and he will have mine. We're best friends after all.

"Thank you," I whisper, turning my attention to the screen once more.

* * *

It's the middle of the day at this point and the sun is beating down on the four of them. It was agreed upon that they would spend the next half hour resting because Peeta is still far too weak to move. Johanna stares at her leg wound, gingerly tracing the moss that covers it with her index finger. Finnick runs his trident through the sand and Beetee is staring off in the direction of the mountains. Peeta is rolled over onto his side, his wounded shoulder up in the air. The exertion from running through the trees was too much, it appears, because the once clean moss is now soaked through with blood. If it hurts him, he doesn't let it show. In fact, he shows no emotion at all and that's what's most frightening to me. His face is an impassive mask and his eyes are haunted. It's obvious that he, like me, thinks the jabberjays were a worse form of torture than the venomous cats: sometimes the worst forms of torture aren't physical. Having to watch Peeta in this Quell, not being with him, has shown me that. The human body is resilient but emotions are dangerously fragile. Maybe that's why I feel as though I've run 10 miles. I sit between Prim and Gale, silently watching Peeta's eyes, trying to telepathically speak to him.

_"I'm just going to live in that moment…when you said you loved me. I'll stay in it forever," _he had said after I confessed my feelings for him.

_"But that won't make you stronger, that won't help you in the arena,"_ I had whispered back to him. I realize my mistake now, how he had been right all along.

_"But it does. It gives me something to fight for,"_ he had said. That's the only thing that I can him now: something to fight for.

The words becomes my silent mantra that I hope for him to hear: _I love you. Always._

* * *

Beetee, of everyone, gets the most restless the most quickly.

"We need to make it to those mountains," he says to the group quietly. No one responds at first. Beetee looks as if he's about to repeat himself when Peeta laborously moves into a sitting position.

"How long will it take?" he asks quietly.

"Depends on how fast you can move," Beetee answers. The statement, coming from anyone else's mouth, would seem malicious, but coming from Beetee it's laced thick with concern.

"As fast as you need me to," Peeta answers resolutely.

"Ok then," Johanna sighs. "Now that that's answered, let's get the fuck out of here."

* * *

It takes them about two hours to walk their way to the mountains. Peeta, though he started out relatively fine, has become extremely slow, barely making it the mountain before he can no longer walk on his own. Johanna vomited twice, the affects of the venom finally taking hold of her small frame. In fact, the small scratches that Peeta and Finnick obtained fighting off the cats seem to be more inflamed than before as well. Everything is falling apart.

By the time they reach the rocky face of the mountain, Peeta looks as though he's a breath away from fainting and Johanna can barely walk on her wounded leg.

The four of them flounder around the side of the mountain a bit before they find a small alcove in its side. It's very small: about big enough for two people to fit comfortably. Johanna slides in, followed by Beetee.

Peeta sinks down and leans against a large rock, closing his eyes.

"What now," he whispers, face gaunt and grey. Johanna sits beside him in the alcove, tremors running through her body. Beetee is hovering around the small space, rubbing his hands on the rocks.

"Wait for something to happen, I guess," Finnick says, twirling his trident with his wrists as he walks around the area. Johanna eyes Beetee with caution, wiping the sweat off her brow.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she asks Beetee. The sicker Johanna has become, the fouler her language gets. It's jarring coming from such a small person.

"Checking for hidden passages," Beetee answers immediately and matter-of-factly, as if the answer should be obvious.

"How many are left?" Peeta asks the group with his eyes closed. I count in my head. The two Careers have yet to make an appearance and there's still Chaff from District 11. I have no idea where they could be in this vast desert but I know the Gamemakers won't keep them far for very long.

And then, as if they could read my mind, the Gamemakers force the screen into three once more.

They've implemented another sandstorm. Chaff is struggling through the sand and the fish bites on his face make him look almost unrecognizable. The Careers—Gloss and Enobaria—are right behind him and they reach the mountains faster than I expect. Perhaps they had been nudging the three of them toward Peeta and his group the entire time.

Although Chaff looks worse for wear, the two Careers are obviously in better shape than Peeta and his allies. Gloss's black eye has turned yellow, the bruise fading, but he sports a deep gash on his other cheek. Enobaria looks to be completely unharmed.

Finnick stands near the alcove warily, watching as the storm fades away. Peeta brings out his dagger, still crouched behind the enormous boulder. His bow and arrows are still in the forest with the jabberjays, not that he would be able to use them anyway. Johanna struggles to stand while holding her axe. The rock and the alcove hide everyone from view except for Finnick.

_This is it, isn't it? This is finale. _

My pulse slows and my limbs become heavy, the adrenaline coursing through my veins at a frantic pace. I feel like I'm back on the launch pad getting ready to run from the Cornucopia. I feel like Prim's name has been called. I'm sick to my stomach.

Chaff thunders closer and Finnick raises his trident. It's no use, though. Gloss hurls his spear at the older man. It sticks with a thump and Chaff collapses on the sand in a heap. The sound of the cannon rings through the house.

In the very recesses of my mind I think about turning around and offering my condolences to Haymitch but I can't bring myself to do it. Chaff was his friend, his 'buddy', but Peeta's still in danger and he's my everything.

"All by your lonesome, Pretty Boy?" Gloss taunts, pulling his spear out of Chaff's back. "Where's your ragtag group of misfits?"

"Who's to say I didn't kill them already? Didn't you hear the cannons?" Finnick asks with a charming smile. "Is your skull really that thick, Gloss?"

Gloss takes a step forward, struggling to find a response to Finnick's statement. He glances at Enobaria who has yet to speak. Peeta, Johanna and Beetee remain unseen, listening intently.

"Where are you hiding them?" Enobaria hisses through her fangs. "There were no canons."

"I don't know where they are," Finnick answers, gripping his trident more tightly in his hand. "But if you've come to finish me off, by all means…" Finnick says, gesturing to himself.

Johanna slides down the wall of the alcove, now unable to put weight on her leg. Beetee continues to run his hands frantically over the rocks. Johanna glances at him, giving him a strange look.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" she whispers to him but Beetee ignores her. Peeta isn't even paying attention to their exchange and I realize he's moved closer to the edge of the rock he's hiding behind.

"Shit, kid," Haymitch says behind me. It's the first thing he's said in over a day, I realize, and the timing isn't a coincidence. Haymitch isn't one for words, just like me. When mentoring, Haymitch would really only feel the need to talk to us when he felt we were doing something stupid or putting ourselves in danger.

Peeta is doing both: he's going to try to protect Finnick.

He grips his dagger tightly in his hand and pushes himself to the very edge of the rock, listening carefully to Finnick's exchange with the careers even though it's strenuous just keeping his eyes open.

"Don't taunt me, Odair, you're outnumbered," Gloss says.

Finnick says nothing. I don't know why he hasn't moved to the alcove, or called Johanna or Peeta for help. I don't understand anything anymore.

Enobaria nudges Gloss forward and he raises his spear just as there is a large rumbling from above. Everyone stops—Johanna, Beetee, Finnick, Gloss, Enobaria, Peeta—and looks up.

A few pebbles roll down the side of the mountain and rain down on Finnick, bouncing off his head and shoulders. Peeta remains frozen in place, watching as the pebbles become larger with each passing second.

Johanna's eyes widen and she looks back at Beetee, who is now pressed tightly against the wall of the rocky alcove.

A rock nearly hits Finnick's face and he moves to back away. Gloss, however, follows him, lunging forward with his spear raised. I brace myself for his hit but it's not Finnick who gets the spear, it's Peeta, who has pushed himself out from behind the rock and in front of Finnick's body.

My heart, which had been beating furiously in my chest, seems to stop altogether. I stare openly at the screen and watch as times stands still and Peeta slumps onto Finnick.

The rocks falling from the mountain turn into boulders and Finnick dodges them to pull them him and Peeta into the alcove to avoid being hit. They barely fit in the small space. Finnick lays Peeta on the ground, fingers moving uselessly at his side where the spear remains embedded in the flesh right above his left hip.

"Shit!" he shouts over the sound of the avalanche. "Shit, Peeta."

Peeta only groans in response. The rocks are beginning to pile up around them, nudging into Peeta's side and shoulder. Finnick uses Peeta's dagger to cut the long part of the spear away, leaving only the blade in his side. In the back of my mind I remember Mother doing something like this with miners who have been caught on the wrong end of a rock pick but I can't place the memory. I can't speak or breathe or think.

The rocks fall steadily now, becoming larger and larger with each passing second. Gloss and Enobaria haven't dared follow Finnick and Peeta around the corner for fear of being crushed.

Peeta's eyes flicker to his new wound and he lets out a tiny gasp. Whatever color his face held is now completely gone. He's fading fast and I'm too shocked by the speed with which things have progressed to comprehend anything. I'm left to watch in horror as the scene unfolds before me.

"You'll tell her right?" Peeta whispers so softly I'm surprised the cameras can pick it up. Blood is blooming from the new wound on his side very quickly. I remember this from a dream—a nightmare—in the weeks before he left. The terror I felt then is nothing compared to the reality of the matter. And it's not Peeta's solid, warm self that's comforting me now. He's thousands of miles away…dying.

Johanna looks at him in alarm from her place against the wall; he's addressed _her_ of all people. When she doesn't respond he speaks again, his voice fading with each word.

"I tried. You have to tell her when I don't—"

"You'll tell her yourself you idiot!" Johanna shouts angrily through the sound of the falling rocks, though the look in her eyes suggests fear, not ire. "Don't make me—" she whispers. "You'll tell her yourself, OK?" she responds, moving closer to him, grabbing his face in her hands. "You'll tell her yourself."

Peeta's response is a sigh before his eyes flutter closed.

_Please, no. _

Finnick pushes Johanna against Beetee in the alcove. The older man hasn't said anything since the rocks started to fall and his eyes remain trained on the blade sticking out of Peeta's side.

Peeta is breathing heavily—_still breathing_— but it's getting hard to see him through the rocks that are piling up around them, forcing them up against the wall. They're narrowly being missed as it is and Finnick heaves Peeta back up, shoving him up against the wall of the tiny recess in the mountain before the rocks slide in and pin them together.

The camera can't get a proper view and _I can't see him. _

_Where is he?_

_Please, no. _

The four of them are now blocked completely from view. The boulders have covered them and the only sound is that of rock crashing on top of rock. I grip Prim's hand hard, trying to remain rooted to the ground because I feel as though I might fall away at any moment.

After a few seconds the avalanche stops and all is quiet. The only sound in the room is the blood rushing violently through my head. I feel like my mouth and ears are stuffed with cotton.

I can't move. I'm frozen, too shocked by the speed with which things have escalated, too stubborn to believe that it's over.

He can't have died—I won't accept it. But all I can see is his infected shoulder and the blade sticking out of his side. All I can see is his face loosing color and his eyes fluttering closed. I can feel the tears falling from my cheeks, blurring my vision. The cannon shots—four of them—confirm my deepest fear.

Out of everything—the cut from District 10's knife, the cat mutt scratches, the venom, the spear to the side— a cave-in is what ended it.

"No, that's wrong," I say to the room, whipping my head around wildly, landing on Prim, Madge, Gale, all of whom give me different looks that I immediately regret seeing. Madge's shoulders tremble and Gale's hands are fisted at his sides. Prim's eyes are wide, like she too can't believe it's happened. She truly believed that Peeta would come back to us. I believed it too.

"No." The word escapes my mouth in a quiet huff. I wipe my cheeks hastily—they're wet. I look to Haymitch. He should know that it doesn't make sense. There's no way the Gamemakers would allow four Tributes to die at once—not with so few to begin with. He'll know what's right and what's wrong. He's my Mentor, he'll know what do to. He _always_ knows.

"Haymitch?" I ask him, feeling as small and worn as my voice surely sounds. He can't meet my eyes because for once he has no answers.

"_He'll die in there,"_ he told me one night.

For a moment I think I might be dreaming, that I fell asleep on the couch last night and I'll wake up to see Finnick and Peeta making fun of Johanna. Better yet, I'll wake up and Peeta will be here with me. He'll make me laugh and I'll be able to see his smile through the dark.

I can't help it anymore. I start to cry.

I whip back to the television screen in time to see Enobaria and Gloss locked in fierce battle. Above them, the scoreboard announces them as the "Final Two". A hovercraft is trying to clear the rubble from the side of the mountain. I clamp a hand over my mouth to try and stifle a wail. The choked, gasping sobs find their way out of my mouth anyway.

I can't see anymore, my head is a warped, grey haze. Somehow, throughout this mess, I was able to hold on to some semblance of hope. Hope that he would survive, that we would be okay and that we would continue on together. Because that's how we do things: _together_.

But it didn't happen.

I should've known the minute he was attacked by that cat. Or when his body started to shut down from the poison. Hell, I should have known the minute his name was called for the Quarter Quell or when I pulled out those berries. I should have been prepared for this.

I stumble out of the house, ignoring the calls of Prim and Gale, and slip on the snow in the yard. It's cold. Everything's cold.

I fly down the road to town, intent on the forest, when I see those damn roses at the entrance to the Victor's Village. The Capitol's muttation roses. They're blooming and red and beautiful and _fake_.

"_I always hated that thing,"_ he told me once, referring to the strange rose bush. His hand had been warm in mine and I could still taste his lips. I can still see his eyes glittering in the dark, feel the heat of his skin and hear his laugh.

I turn on my heel and run straight for the roses, dropping to my knees and grabbing at the offensive red petals. I rip them apart as fast as I can, grasping the petals in my fingers and tearing.

_I hate them too._

I take hold of the thorny stems, yanking upwards, ignoring the pain I feel in my hands, the tears that streak down my cheeks and the blood that's dotting the snowy ground. The thorns cut into my skin and I can tell that I'm probably destroying my hands.

It doesn't hurt, though. Not compared to my heart, which is strange because I know I've lost it.

I gave it to Peeta and he's gone.


	19. Chapter 19

I'm numb almost all the time. I can't speak. I can't move. I can't feel. I've shut myself down because he's everywhere. He's in the comforter on my bed. He's in the food Prim forces me to eat. He's on the couch and in the kitchen. He's in the floorboards and on the stairs. He's in the breeze that rustles my hair and the sunlight that snakes it's way through the windows. I don't understand how I can feel so empty if he's everywhere; when I'm reminded of him by the most inconsequential things.

Grief is strange. I've never experienced it this way before. Yes, I was distraught when my father died. I am familiar with the itching heartache and there was a time when I was so overcome with sadness and stress that I almost gave up. Of course, that is, until someone helped me. Until someone showed me that there's hope in even the most dismal of circumstances. The thought makes me so sick now that I have to focus solely on breathing until my mind stops swimming.

I know this isn't what he wanted. It's the exact opposite, actually, but I think he underestimated the effect he had on me. Even before Prim's name was called, Peeta Mellark was a shining light in my life. I was just too stupid to really understand it. He saved me after my father died and just seeing him around the District, though not understanding what it meant at the time, was comforting. And then the 74th Hunger Games happened, binding the two of us so tightly together that when we are ripped apart I can't feel anything at all. I don't want to. The crushing sadness is too heavy for me to bear and even Prim can't help lift it off me. God knows she's tried but I know that he's the only one who can. He can't, though. He's not here.

The memories hurt the most. That's why I'm currently curled in a ball on the bottom of the upstairs closet, hoping the dark, enclosed space will wash them away. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes until I see spots. Mother spent hours pulling the thorns from the rosebush out of my hands. It took three weeks for them to heal completely, probably because I kept reopening the wounds. I didn't notice, though. I didn't notice anything.

It was Gale who finally pulled me out of the cold that night. I fought him, punching at his chest and leaving bloody marks on his thin shirt. My fight didn't last long, though—it seemed to leave my body completely as the last of the flower petals fell from my fingers. I vaguely remember see Madge hugging Prim in the corner of the living room as Gale carried me upstairs and into the bathroom so Mother could tend to me.

Those first few weeks I stayed in bed. It felt—still feels—like someone dropped an iron weight on my chest, only now I'm more used to the suffocating sensation.

Enobaria won. I found out a week afterwards, having overheard Gale talk with Madge outside my bedroom door. I had pressed my fists into my ears, trying to drown out the noise and reopening the cuts on my hands in the process. It wasn't as bad as when I found out his body wouldn't be returned to District 12, though. The day Effie called, explaining that Peeta was to be buried in a Victor's cemetery in the Capitol, I broke every glass object in the house and locked myself in the basement. It took two days for Prim to coax me out.

I'm tired but I can't sleep. When exhaustion finds me the nightmares follow quickly. Peeta is in most of them: variations of the mutt cats, his mangled shoulder, seizing on the forest floor, crying my name, Gloss' spear. Sometimes my nightmares are completely fictional but terrifying nonetheless. But sometimes I'll dream of sleeping in Peeta's arms only to wake up cold and alone. I don't know what's worse: waking up from nightmares to realize it's not real or waking up from happy dreams to realize, at one point, it was. I guess it's something that I'll just have to accept. This is how my life will be: miserable, but I'll survive. I always do. Then again, maybe I'll just die with the rebellion. Follow it through, like he asked. I'll fight along with the rebels and die in battle. Not on purpose, though. Never on purpose. I won't willingly exit the world when life is a gift so easily taken away. I'm not a coward.

_Then what are you doing on the floor of the closet again, Katniss? _

I press the heels of my hand harder into my eyes, trying to wipe away the memory of Peeta that brought me up here in the first place. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep hiding away when the sadness becomes too much. When Prim finds me here again she'll just tell Rory who will tell Gale who will worry. Gale's taken to worrying a lot. His worrying is what pulled me from my bed and into the bathroom for the first time after three weeks of wasting away.

"_He said that if you got this way, to remind you of your promise. I don't know what that means, but damnit Katniss you're scaring me." _

_I finally meet his eyes at the mention of my name. He's pulling anxiously at his hair and I'm unable to come up with a response. _

"_I know now," he says again. "I'm sorry for what I said before the Games started. I didn't understand and I was jealous and wounded and stupid." _

_I don't process Gale's words, only that my limbs hurt. I'm not used to standing, so I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the floor. It was a mistake, I realize. Bathrooms remind me of Peeta. I want to leave but Gale is blocking the door and I'm too weak to push past him. I choose to stare at the spot above Gale's head as an alternative. _

"_You owe it to him to get the fuck out of that damn bed. What do you think he would do if he saw you like this?" Gale asks, his voice rising slightly. I think about this for a moment. Peeta would probably be upset if he saw me like this. I wonder what I look like now; I haven't looked in a mirror in a while and I don't remember the last time I showered. My gaze turns to my bandaged hands. Peeta would be upset I hurt myself but I think he would appreciate the gesture: the rose bush doesn't exist anymore. _

"_You haven't spoken to anyone, Catnip," Gale whispers. I look at him again, not used to the endearment. "Madge is worried sick about you. Did you know that? She wants to come in here but your Mother told her to wait until you started…" he trails off, unsure of what to say. Until I start what? Acting normal again? Impossible. _

"_Prim can't take it that much longer. Rory tells me she can't stop crying at school. Did you know she saves her crying for school? She doesn't want to do it around you."_

_With that piece of information my head snaps up so quickly my vision goes black for a second. Gale looks down at me expectantly._

"_I…" it's the first thing I've said in weeks and my throat protests from lack of use. "I didn't know that," I finish lamely._

"_Shit, Catnip," Gale sighs before sitting down in front of me. "I've been over to Haymitch's a few times. Doubt he remembers, though. He's always been too drunk to form words." Gale runs his hands through his hair before continuing._

"_I know I can't understand this. I know that I never will. I get that now. OK? But you need to understand that Peeta—he didn't want this." _

_I don't know if it's because I'm tired or frustrated or sad, but Gale saying Peeta's name makes tears fall from my eyes for the first time since he died. _

"_I know," I whisper. That's why it's so hard. I can't seem to do the one thing he asked of me. _

"_So what are you going to do about it? Why can't you get up?" he asks, his voice quiet but alarmed. _

_I curl up on the bathroom floor as a response. If Gale leaves I don't hear him._

_xxx _

_I start when I feel someone touch my cheek. _

"_Katniss."_

_I turn onto my back, letting my greasy hair fall over my face. Hazelle Hawthorne looks down at me and I'm so shocked to see her that for once I don't pull away. She runs her hand over my forehead and stares down at me with a strange expression on her face. It's not a look of pity or regret, though. It's one I saw from my Mother after the announcement and all through the weeks leading up to the Quell. It's one of understanding. She knows what this suffering is like. _

"_Let me wash your hair, sweet girl. At least before things start to grow in there." I look up at her through bleary, red-rimmed eyes. I do something that shocks even myself. I allow it. _

_With heavy arms I push myself off the floor and lean against the bathtub. Hazelle turns on the faucet and fills it to the brim with warm water. I can feel the vibration of the rising water against the porcelain. _

"_Get on in there, now. You can leave your underclothes on," Hazelle instructs. I look at her for a moment before nodding. Even if she had asked me I wouldn't have taken everything off. A part of me knows I'm being ridiculous. Hazelle Hawthorne is practically my mother but I take a small comfort in knowing that Peeta is the only other person who will ever see me like that again. _

_I step into the warm water and try to ignore the fact that it feels incredible. I don't want to feel anything. Hazelle takes my arm and starts to scrub the grime away meticulously while I stare at the wall. Once my body is scrubbed clean she works on untangling my hair. _

"_You nearly scared the teeth off my son," she says suddenly. "Came running into the house, going on about how you were gone." I close my eyes, knowing there's nothing I can say to explain myself. _

"_Gale isn't one to understand these things, though. Not unless he experiences it," she continues, squirting a generous amount of shampoo on top of my head. "Did I ever tell you about your Mama?"_

_I grit my teeth. Hazelle must sense my sudden apprehension, the way my muscles tense, but she pays me no notice. _

"_Your Mama lived in Town but you know that. Beautiful girl, she was. Looked exactly like Primrose and had all the boys hanging on her every word, her best friend included," Hazelle explains while working my hair into a lather. _

"_And she had no idea," she laughs softly. "It was so obvious that us girls and boys of the Seam knew about it. Everyone knew about your Mama and Bryn Mellark. They were attached at the hip. Some people mistook them for brother and sister until he started looking at her a little differently. We all thought they'd end up together. The apothecary's daughter and the baker's son... It made sense for them to be together. But then again, not one person—Seam or Merchant—expected your Mama to fall so hard for your Daddy."_

_I swallow thickly and am thankful for the stream of water Hazelle pours over my head. It masks my tears. The similarities between my mother and myself are startling. I hang my head and think about Gale and how I guess it made sense for us to be together as well. Until Peeta stole my heart. _

_Hazelle grips my chin gently in her hands and forces me to look at her. _

"_You're a lot like your Mama, honey." I turn my face to look away but Hazelle holds my head steady. "But you are also _very_ different. Your Mama lost her man. I lost my man. You lost yours. There's nothing that can take the pain away. It will always be here," she says, placing a hand in the middle of my chest. "It will always be with you. No one can tell you different. Not Primrose. And definitely not my son. But you gotta know you are not your Mama."_

_Hazelle starts to ring out my hair but I stare at her, thinking hard about what she said. I am not my Mother. _

"_You are strong and brave," she whispers fiercely. "Why don't you start by leaving your bedroom? Your sister will be home from school soon." _

That was weeks ago. I don't even know how much time has passed since it all ended. Months, I think. I'm not always like this. A heap on the floor, that is. Over the weeks I've almost been able to pretend to be myself. But every so often I'm pulled under so deeply that time and space have no meaning until someone finally figures out which closet I've been hiding in.

_Yes_, I think. _Gale is definitely going to be upset when Prim tells him I'm in the closet again_.

Prim was shocked to see me at the kitchen table after I left my room the day Hazelle came to see me. She stood in the doorway for a moment, her mouth catching flies, before she bounded at me and gave me a fierce hug. It took me another week to leave the house but as soon as I reached the porch steps I had to go back inside. Seeing _his_ house across the way was too much. _I spent a long time in the closet after that_, I remember to myself.

I feel ridiculously pathetic most of the time.

_I am not my Mother_, I repeat to myself like a mantra.

It's hard to ignore, though, on days like these when I can't get off the damn closet floor.

I almost feel badly for thinking ill of her. She has been more doting in the past few weeks than she has in the last five years. Maybe that's what it takes to turn around: watching your daughter change into the miserable person you've become. Maybe she could see it coming before I could. Maybe that's the reason she always looked so sad when she watched Peeta and I. If how I feel now is how she felt all the time after Dad died I should apologize to her for acting the way I did. I know I should ask Prim about it but the only person I really want to talk to isn't here anymore.

I shift on the hard floor of the closet. My limbs are stiff and my fingers and toes are cold. I grip Peeta's sea glass tightly in my palm. Prim placed it in my bandaged hands a few days after it all ended and I haven't let go since.

"_Is it so bad?" he asks, running his nose along mine. "Kissing me?"_

I choke at the memory. I've been trying so hard to keep it away but it's really no use.

"_If it were so bad why do you think I spent almost all of last night with your mouth attached to mine?" I respond, trying desperately to entertain the thought of pulling away. He's making it hard, though. The way he has me pressed against the counter, his hands gripping my hips, doesn't help. _

_Peeta laughs against my neck. "Good point. So why can't I kiss you here? In your kitchen? Your mother and sister won't be here for hours," he notes while pressing his lips along my neck and under my jaw._

"_Because your sweaty," I breathe out, unable to ignore the way his thumbs hook into the top of my pants. Peeta responds by brushing his lips over my ear. _

"_So are you," he murmurs into my skin with a smile. _

"_You smell bad," I whisper and Peeta laughs loudly, pecking me once on the mouth before pulling away to look in my eyes. _

"_That," he says with a smile, "is your fault completely. If you didn't have me running all over the District, and then lifting weights, I don't think I'd smell so bad." I scowl at his nonchalance. He's leaving soon. He knows why I make him train._

"_Besides," he continues, bringing his mouth dangerously close to mine, "and I might be wrong here," he says kissing the outer corners of my mouth, "but don't girls typically enjoy kissing the boys they love?"_

_He's got me. Ever since I've said the words he's had me wrapped around his finger. I can't say I mind so much, especially when his breath mingles with mine. _

"_You're an idiot," I whisper with an uncharacteristic smile before I bring my hand behind his neck and pull him down to me. _

A sob gets caught somewhere in my throat. He's everywhere. It's not like this hasn't happened before, either. These meltdowns happen almost weekly but the regularity doesn't lessen the pain.

Regardless, I need to get up.

"_I am not my Mother," _I repeat in my head until I have the strength to lift myself onto my elbows, and then my knees. I feel faint from the exertion.

_Pathetic. _

Even in the dark I can make out the white scars that decorate my hands from pulling apart the rose bush.

"_I am not my Mother." _

Through the door I can hear Prim making tea downstairs—she must have just gotten home from school. If I go into the kitchen now, she won't know I've been in here at all.

I'm able to leave the closet but the memory of Peeta that brought me there sits on my shoulders like a heavy coat until I'm able to escape under my covers that night where I cry fully and in secret.

* * *

It's a Saturday when I finally go to see Haymitch. I know this because it's the middle of the day and Prim is at home playing with Buttercup. She doesn't question when I leave the house, knowing that it's best not to bring up any progress I might be making. Drawing attention to it usually results in a meltdown.

It's warm out, I notice, as I cross the lawn to Haymitch's. But there are no budding leaves on the trees. Not yet. I don't even bother to knock on his door. Actually, I'm assuming that Haymitch will just be passed out drunk. It's part of the reason I came over: to be able to say "I tried" but not actually having to confront anything. Unfortunately for me, though, things never go as I plan.

"It's against the law to break into houses, you know," I hear Haymitch say across the dark room. It smells of vomit and stale things.

I spend a solid 90 seconds searching for a reply but my witty remarks seem to be lagging. I decide silence is probably more disconcerting and just go with that. I pick my way across Haymitch's living room and sit down on an unsoiled piece of carpeting across from his couch.

"Took you long enough to get over here," Haymitch says quietly.

"I could say the same for you but I haven't seen you either. Did you forget you still had one Tribute left to take care of?" I ask bitterly but I regret my words almost immediately. Haymitch's jaw clenches and his eyes go blank. With nothing else to do, I watch him.

"I never forgot," Haymitch finally says. "I'm just a coward, I guess."

"You scared I'll bite your head off?" I ask quietly and with zero malice.

"Just scared of failing again," he says, putting an empty bottle of liquor on the floor.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm bad a keeping promises," he answers, as if that is explanation enough. We sit in silence a little longer before he speaks again.

"I'm failing that boy," he whispers and a lump forms in my throat. Aren't we all? I'm failing him on an epic scale. Walking over to Haymitch's house was the biggest accomplishment I've made since who knows when. "I'm not taking care of you," he mumbles.

"I don't need to be taken care of," I snap angrily, forcing my stupid eyes to remain dry. I've gone a full six days without crying and I intend to keep it that way.

"Sweetheart, you do. And you are, you just don't know it. You've got your sister and your mother. Tall, dark and handsome and his kin. That Donner girl, even."

"Undersee. Her name is Madge Undersee, Haymitch," I tell him. Poor Madge. She's been as loyal as ever, coming home with Prim after school and sitting with me in silence as I force hot tea into my stomach.

"Looks like her Aunt," he says quietly, almost to himself. I want to ask him what the hell he means but Haymitch speaks before my mouth can form the words. "The point is, sweetheart, you've got people who care about you. You're being taken care of. It's just the person you _want_ to be taking care of you isn't here anymore."

I look away from him and towards the kitchen, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time. It's overwhelming.

"I'm tired," I snivel in a way that eludes to the fact that I'm on the verge of crying. To his credit, Haymitch doesn't respond immediately.

"I've been tired for 25 years."

I pull at my braid as I study the littered mess that is Haymitch's home.

"Who's taking care of you, Haymitch?" I ask quietly, wondering why I didn't ask this before now. Before the Quell, even.

"I don't need to be taken care of," he responds wearily.

"You've got people who care about you," I reply, hoping he understands that I'm talking about me. I don't think I could say it out loud. "It's just…is the person you want to take care of you not here either?" I say quietly so as not to let my voice break. I see Haymitch close his eyes.

"I think you should go," he says.

"I miss him," I blurt out suddenly. "He's…I just miss him so much I can barely breathe sometimes." I say the last bit in a hushed rush and peek a look at Haymitch. This is most I've talked to anyone about Peeta and it hurts like hell. But it feels right to talk about this with Haymitch, whose eyes are still closed.

"I know," Haymitch responds. "I miss the kid, too."

* * *

Another week passes. I don't know what exactly pushes me to ask Gale about the rebellion but he doesn't seem to be particularly surprised when I push him into my bathroom and turn on the faucets. The bow and arrow are still there—I can't bring myself to move them.

"What's the news on the rebellion, Gale?" I ask him.

"I was wondering when you would ask about that," he says quietly. There's something off, though. He doesn't look excited like I thought he'd be. I had presumed Gale would be ecstatic with me showing interest in the rebellion. Instead he looks disappointed. Regretful, even.

"Gale?" I ask again, prodding.

"There's nothing much to report, I'm afraid," Gale responds, switching his gaze to the tiled floor. "There's no plan. There's…Madge is still listening for updates from her house. We're at a standstill, almost."

"What?" I ask, my disbelief evident. "How? You said that it was growing? That the number of people in District 12 willing to get involved was growing steadily."

"I know. And that's still true. You haven't been into Town or down by the Seam, Catnip. You haven't left Victor's Village in months. If you went around the District, you'd see just how upset people are. With what happened during the Quell…that was the last straw on the camel's back. People lost it. New Peacekeepers from District 2 were sent in. The Hob was shut down."

My head swivels on my neck.

"What? Why didn't you tell me?" I ask him, put off and confused and scared.

"You haven't been in the best state of mind, you know. I don't know what's going to set you off. I don't know what's going to send you into the closet and make you a zombie for days," Gale answers back, his voice rising. "Don't blame this on me. You're not exactly stable right now," he says almost angrily.

"I deserve to know," I bite back, hackles raised.

"Well I'm not going to baby you. If you want something, ask for it. I'm not a mind reader and I'm definitely not your babysitter," he shouts. "I don't even know you anymore," he adds in a low voice.

Anger has been laced behind every thought I've had the past few months. Anger at Snow. Anger at the Capitol. Now it's an anger so obviously directed at my oldest friend that it makes me dizzy.

"Get out," I whisper so coldly I can feel it on my tongue. Gale falters at the door; he looks just as pissed as I feel.

"OUT!" I yell, uncaring of the microphones or whatever Capitol sensors are planted throughout the house. I know they detect the slam of my bedroom door as Gale leaves. I sit on the edge of the tub, fuming silently at Gale's words until I hear a commotion downstairs.

"No! Definitely not. Do you have any idea what seeing you would do to her?" I hear Gale shout. Suddenly I'm terrified and my muscles stiffen painfully. Who could he be talking about? I automatically assume the worst yet not knowing what the worst could possibly be. I hear the intruder speak but can't make out any coherent words.

Grabbing my bow and sheath of arrows off the bathroom floor, I hurry to the top of the stairs. Slowly, I make my way down, careful to avoid the creaky middle step.

"I don't care why the hell you're here, just get out," Gale seethes, his voice growing louder the closer I get. I knock an arrow and pull the string back just as the intruder speaks again.

"Fine then. Just give her this, alright?"

As I cross the bottom step I finally see him. The physical similarities are extraordinary and for a second I think it's him.

"Katniss," he says, alarmed. I have the bow trained on his chest and he puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, backing away slightly. His blonde hair is a shade darker than his brother's and he's taller, too, standing about an inch shorter than Gale. My mouth hangs open and Gale turns his head in my direction.

"Catnip," he says, the anger from our earlier argument completely gone. "I'll kick his ass, just say the word."

Rye Mellark glances at Gale and then back at me.

"Why are you here?" I ask him. "What are you supposed to give me?" My voice is surprisingly level but I know there's a fire in my eyes that has been absent for too long.

Rye pushes a wrapped package in my direction. I don't have to open it to know that it's a loaf of bread.

"I'd like to talk to you, if you'd allow it," Rye says quietly. I study him for a long time and he shifts uneasily under my stare.

"And why should I allow it? You were completely absent from Peeta's life after the Games. What makes you think I want anything to do with you?" I whisper menacingly. Rye looks confused before his expression turns unbelievably sad.

"You must have really loved him," he says quietly.

"I never stopped loving him—I still do! Which is more than I can say for you," I spit out. I know I have nothing to prove to him but the words fly from my mouth anyway.

Rye shrinks under my harsh accusation and his hand goes to fiddle with something on his right wrist.

_The train sways as we move through the woods connecting Districts 9 and 10. Peeta leans his head against the glass and I mirror his position, appreciating the coolness against my cheek. _

"_When I was eight, my mother had a pair of really expensive leather shoes," he starts out of nowhere. I turn to look at him. He's staring into the dark woods with a small smirk on his face. _

"_They were hideous. They had been died this awful red color and she thought she really looked great in them. Rye and I always made fun of her behind her back. One afternoon I accidentally dropped a bowl of icing on the ground. My hands were too slippery and I didn't have a proper grip. That was the first time she hit me on the face."_

_He pauses and meets my gaze hesitantly. There's a funny look in his eyes and I don't know how to place it. Tentatively, I reach between us and take his hand, turning it over in my lap. I look back up at him, gauging his reaction. Peeta looks slightly perplexed but I run my thumb over his palm anyway. When I don't speak he continues his story. _

"_The icing had gotten all over my mother's shoes and she made Rye clean them. I spent the rest of the day pretending not to cry while cleaning up the stock room of the bakery. Rye came in towards closing time with this evil look in his eyes. 'I did something Peet,' he said."_

_Peeta smiles at the memory and I lay my palm flat on his before twining our fingers together. _

"_Rye pulled out these red, leather straps and he was smiling so big that I finally stopped crying. Rye had cut off the straps to my mother's precious shoes. Shoes she probably loved more than her own children. 'She'll probably just think her fat feet made them snap off,' Rye explained. I was laughing now because my mother does have really fat feet," Peeta says with a light laugh. He tightens his grip on my hand and begins running his thumb along the inside of my wrist. It tickles and I'm not sure if it's that what is making me smile or if it's Peeta's story. _

"_Anyway, we ended up wearing the straps as matching bracelets. She never found out we were the ones who broke her shoes, miraculously. The bracelet was my token in the Games and I lost it in my scuffle with Cato. I wish I still had it, you know?"_

Rye turns the red leather bracelet over on his wrist.

"I still love him too, you know," Rye whispers. "He was my brother. Still is."

Gale stands awkwardly at the door. Seeing the look on my face he must realize it's alright to leave me alone. I nod at him anyway and lower my bow.

"Um, so…here's a loaf," Rye says, handing me the wrapped package. "It's good. It has nuts and dried fruit in it. Bakers can't do much other than bake so it's actually the most I can do for you probably," he says with a smile. I look up at him. His eyes aren't the same color blue as Peeta's: Rye's are paler. I open the package and can see that the bread Rye delivered is the same bread that Peeta threw to me in the rain almost six years ago. I feel like crying.

"How…" I trail off, not meeting his eyes.

"Peet told me to make this kind. Before he left he told me. It took me months to follow through with it. Probably because this kind of bread reminds me of him. It's harder to do things that remind me of Peet," he finishes quietly, twisting the leather bracelet around his wrist.

I don't feel like talking anymore so I nod at him. There's a lump developing in my throat and I hope that Rye leaves before it bursts. He must sense that our conversation is over because he starts to head for the door.

"Thank you," I choke out. "For the bread." Rye looks at me over his shoulder and smiles crookedly. It hits me square in the heart, reminding me of what's gone.

"Thank you for the bread," I repeat louder.

After Rye leaves I cut myself a massive slice of Peeta's bread and eat it methodically. When I'm done I climb the stairs, crawl into my bed and cry silently into my pillow.

_That bread reminds me of him, too._


	20. Chapter 20

I toss the wrapped loaf of bread at Haymitch's unconscious form on the couch. Ever since Rye brought the bread a few weeks ago he's come everyday with a new loaf, always warm. I know without a doubt that it must have been something Peeta made him promise to do and even though this whole process makes me unbelievably sad I don't turn Rye away. I have a feeling the whole development helps Rye deal with whatever feelings he has and who am I to upset that balance even if I can't create one myself. He bothers me, though. He's always trying to diffuse the situation with awkward humor when I'd rather he just give me whatever it is he has and then leave. Although that's more than I can say about the lump of a person in front of me.

"Haymitch," I say loudly, kicking his leg with my boot. He grumbles something and throws his arm over his eyes.

"Haymitch," I say again. "We're going to eat this together." I kick him again and he rolls over the couch and onto the floor, cursing loudly when he lands on an empty liquor bottle.

"Listen, Sweetheart, I'm touched. Really. But you need to learn that sometimes a man just needs to be left the hell alone," he grumbles.

"Is that what you told Peeta," I ask dangerously, knowing full well that I'm kicking him while he's down. I can see the understanding flash in Haymitch's eyes before it's quickly replaced with annoyance. He mumbles something that sounds like an insult before he picks himself off the floor and heads into the kitchen. I follow him and begin to clear off his dirty table.

Haymitch comes back with a knife and starts to slice the bread into pieces. While he does that, I fish the letter I received in the mail today out of my pocket and place it on the table. When Haymitch sees it he pauses and then pales slightly in the face.

"What's that?" he asks quietly. I sit down heavily at the kitchen table.

"A letter," I croak. "I didn't want to open it alone."

It's completely illogical that I am so calm right now but I attribute it to my complete emotional demise. When the Quell ended I was left with absolutely nothing, so when I received Snow's letter in the mail I barely reacted. I have yet to react because I shut myself down months ago. I can't feel anything anymore except for a crippling depression every week or so and, despite what I've been told, over the months it hasn't gotten better.

I had wondered what drove Snow to send a letter instead of actually coming to visit me. Seeing him in person would send me into the basement for weeks, I'm sure of it, so a part of me wonders what kind of game he's playing. A much larger part of me doesn't care anymore.

Haymitch stares at me for a moment before he takes the letter off the table and rips it open with the bread knife. He glances at it before reading. I close my eyes, turning the sea glass over and over in my hand until Haymitch speaks.

"Well," Haymitch finally says. "No new information here." His voice is flat and I keep my eyes closed, feeling my mind drift away from me yet again.

"What does it say?" I ask quietly.

"You want me to read it word for word?" Haymitch questions, voice strained.

"No," I respond, my eyes shooting open. There's a tingling of panic that starts to creep its way from my toes up to my hair. "Please don't. Just summarize the important parts," I explain, my voice becoming harder. Haymitch pauses for a second before glancing down at the paper.

"He says the Games will continue this August as usual. We're both expected to Mentor." I swallow the lump in my throat and shake my head lightly in an attempt to clear it. The next part Haymitch says with audible disgust.

"He says he's sorry for your loss and that you've handled it quite well. He's pleased with you."

I nod mechanically. I should feel fear or loathing or anger. All I feel is emptiness. I concentrate on chewing until Haymitch and I have finished eating the entire loaf of bread. When I'm done I leave Haymitch with the letter hoping he'll know that I want it destroyed. I walk back to my house and straight into the bathroom where I vomit into the toilet. I don't sleep that night. Instead I watch the shadows creep across my ceiling, wishing I were one of them: just a shadow in the night.

* * *

Prim and Rory play checkers while I watch and turn the sea glass over and over in my pocket. I don't like to bring it out into the open anymore. No one asks me about it but I can see the questions burning in their eyes when they see me clutching it.

"You're cheating!" Rory exclaims at Prim, looking incredulously around the room.

"Am not! Just because you're terrible doesn't mean I cheat all the time!" Prim shoots back with a smile, glancing up at me. I don't return it; I think it's sates her enough that I'm finally present for a full game.

"It's ok, Prim. You're sister was the one who always cheated. Maybe that's why Rory is a bit suspicious," Gale interjects, switching his gaze towards me briefly. I don't smile at that either, even if it's something I might have done in the past. Instead I give him a minimal shrug of my shoulders. Gale comes over more frequently now that I no longer spend all day and night in my bed, even though everyone knows it's where I'd rather be.

"Katniss isn't a cheater," Prim says softly, trying to stick up for me the only way she knows how. Again, I don't respond. Rory growls frustratedly and runs his hand through his mop of dark hair. He's beginning to look more and more like his oldest brother and the small mannerisms he now displays are freakishly similar. He's still so skinny. I just wish Gale would take money I offer him on occasion. He's too damn stubborn.

Just as Prim is about to jump over Rory's black piece I hear the door swing open loudly and then slam shut. My head whips to the side and I'm surprised to see Madge, her cheeks red and her fair hair wild around her face. Madge, like Gale, comes over more frequently. Usually she sips tea and helps Prim with her homework while I watch. She doesn't, however, usually come at night. Madge pauses at the entrance to the living room, her blue eyes racing between Gale and me, who are sitting on opposite sides of the room. I can feel my brow furrow in confusion and I'm about to stand up when Madge walks purposefully across the room, grabs Gale's cheeks, and crushes her lips to his.

I feel my mouth drop open and for a moment my fingers still on the sea glass in my pocket. Gale's eyes are wide and he looks just as confused as I feel. Their lips make a smacking sound when Madge pulls away.

"You need to come with me," she says in a voice I've never heard out of her mouth before. It's not seductive, though. It's not breathy or soft. It's not the way I ever spoke to Peeta. It's urgent in a way that makes me scared.

"Huh?" Gale says, his eyes look slightly clouded over before he shakes his head and they turn hard once again. "What was that?" he asks gruffly.

"You," she says forcefully, poking a finger into his chest roughly, "need to come with me," she finishes before grabbing his hand and yanking him up off the couch. Gale sends me a befuddled glance before following Madge out the door. Through the window, I see her pull his face down before she kisses him again. Gale still looks confused but Madge doesn't waste any time. She marches down the porch steps while Gale stumbles after her.

It's silent in the living room as Prim, Rory and I process what just transpired. As the seconds pass, a creeping thickness fills my limbs until I'm almost suffocated by it. It's a feeling that paralyzes me.

Longing.

Envy.

I'm jealous. I'm extremely jealous. Of Madge. I'm jealous and resentful, not because I want Gale, but because I will never be able to kiss _Peeta_ again. It's been two weeks since my last trip to the closet but I have a feeling that whatever just happened here will send me back.

Prim must see it in my eyes.

"Katniss," she says quietly. "Rory keeps telling me that Madge has a crush on Gale…"

I can't look at either of them. I don't know how to explain the sorrow that sits like a heavy rock in my stomach. I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending that I'm OK.

"I'm going to sleep," I whisper, even though it's 7 p.m. and we haven't eaten yet. I get off the couch and clutch the sea glass tightly in my pocket.

I take the stairs two at a time and collapse onto my bed. A few minutes later I hear the door open.

"Katniss?"

It's Prim and I roll over to face the wall. I can feel the tears building up behind my eyes so I screw them shut in an attempt to keep them locked away. Prim crawls onto my bed and places a light hand on my shoulder.

I don't want to be touched.

"Please talk to me, Katniss," Prim says quietly. "You haven't talked to me in months." She says the last part a lot faster and a lot quieter than when she usually speaks so I know she's about ready to break down. I have not talked to Prim about Peeta since he died. I haven't wanted to. The only person I've actively spoken to about Peeta was Haymitch.

_I am not my Mother._

I take a deep, shuttering breath.

"I can't do this anymore," I whisper. "I can't pretend that I'm OK."

I can feel Prim curl up next to me on the bed. She waits a few moments before she speaks and in that time, a few tears puddle on the side of my nose.

"I know you're not OK. And I know the reason you came up here wasn't because of Gale or Madge," she responds.

Technically it was, but I don't tell her that. All I can do is muster some sort of strange nod. The force of the action makes tears slide down my cheeks and onto my pillow. I take the sea glass out of my pocket and rest it on the side of my face. My face always feels hot when I cry so the coolness of the glass is a welcome contrast.

"I just miss him, is all," I whisper again before my body starts to shake with silent sobs. I try to pull myself together enough to get the next words out so my sister can hear them. "I don't know how to get better. I don't think I can."

* * *

I wake up bathed in light. Prim must have opened my curtains this morning. It's the first time anyone's done that in months so I'm not too surprised to see dust motes floating heavily around the room. The light is too harsh, though, so I get up and shut the curtains violently. I crawl into bed again and turn my back to the door, preferring the blank expanse of wall to my right. I don't plan on leaving my room today.

Time passes, I don't know how much, but eventually I hear a soft knock on the door. It's Prim again, obviously, but I don't have the strength to respond. Instead, I pull the covers up over my head and press the cool sea glass against the side of my nose. I hear another knock and I close my eyes.

She knocks three more times before she opens the door.

"You have a visitor, Katniss," Prim says softly. If she thinks that will make me turn around she's delusional. I curl my knees to my chest and hold my breath, waiting for the door to close again. Prim knows I'm not in a state to speak to anyone so why is she pushing this?

"It's OK, Posy, go around the bed. Katniss misses you very much, too," Prim says softly and I hear a series of steps move around the room while I panic internally. Posy Hawthorne? Prim knows better than to bring her here, where depression reigns and hopelessness cloaks the room like a heavy cloud. She's too young for that.

"Posy has a present for you, Katniss, so I said that she should bring it to you in person," Prim explains, her voice muffled by the blankets that cover my head.

I don't have time to respond before I feel someone pull the covers away from my face. Through my eyelids I can tell that the curtains are still closed so I'm silently thankful that Prim hasn't reopened them. When I open my eyes I'm met with a pair of large grey ones. Posy smiles shyly at me.

"Hey Posy," I croak, not bothering to remove the sea glass from where it's slid down my cheek. Posy smiles again, exposing her tiny little teeth before hiding her face in Prim's skirt.

"Go on, Pose," Prim urges nicely. "She'll love them."

With Prim's encouragement, Posy pulls something out of her pocket and places it on the bed next to my face.

"Happy Birthday, Katty," Posy quips, "they're pretty. Like you." Posy pats my head like a dog before following Prim out of the room.

It's my birthday? It's May already? I mean to say something back to her—anything, really— but the heap of dandelions Posy left on my bed paralyzes me. My muscles move by themselves and before I know it, I'm gripping the weeds tightly in my hand.

There's no way she could have known, absolutely no way.

Some unknown force launches me out of my bed so fast that I get a little dizzy. I stand in my room for a moment, just staring at the dandelions I'm gripping in one hand and the sea glass I'm clutching in the other. I move across the room slowly and with no clue where I might end up. All I know is that I can't be in that bed right now. When I reach my door I falter for a moment.

_I'm going insane_, I think to myself before I slowly open my bedroom door and walk out onto the landing.

"You need to tell her, Gale," I hear Madge say quietly. They're at the bottom of the stairs but I've moved so quietly that they haven't heard me appear yet.

"Absolutely not. It would ruin everything if I did, you know that," Gale mutters back. I stand still and even though they haven't said so, I know they're talking about me.

"It's not fair to her," Madge says again, her voice full of an emotion I can't quite pinpoint. She's looking at him with pleading eyes.

"I don't care if it's not fair. Everything that we've done would have been for nothing if she finds out. You know that, Madge," Gale pushes, his eyes downcast and his expression sullen.

"Kitty!" Posy says from behind me, making me jump and hit the wall forcefully. Gale and Madge stop talking immediately.

I gulp loudly, trying to understand what the hell Gale and Madge could have been talking about. My mind is swimming with the possibilities. Why would Gale think it's a bad idea to tell me about their relationship? Does he think it would upset me for reasons other than that it would remind me of Peeta? Or are they talking about something else entirely?

Madge's cheeks have turned bright red and I'm gripping the dandelions so tightly I'm sure they're completely ruined by now. I look between the two of them, unsure of how to handle the situation properly. Right when I'm about to open my mouth, Madge bounds up the stairs and pulls me into a tight hug.

My arms come around her small shoulders warily and she pulls away soon after. Madge doesn't look at me as she goes back down the stairs but she shoots Gale one of the dirtiest looks I've seen a person give anyone in my life. I hear the front door close loudly behind her as she leaves.

For two people who rarely talk to each other, Gale and Madge sure seem to be going through some sort of weird trial. I don't care about their relationship, though. I really don't. I'm more concerned with what they were talking about earlier. So when my mind clears enough for me to think plainly I speak.

"I need to talk to you," I state clearly, directing the words at Gale, whose face is completely unreadable.

"Now," I add quietly before walking into my bathroom, leaving a confused Posy at the top of the stairs. I wait before Gale has closed the door and turned on all the faucets before I speak.

"What can't I know, Gale?" I ask him. I put my thoughts of Peeta in a tiny, locked compartment of my brain to deal with later. For now, I need to prove to Gale that I can handle whatever he thinks I can't because I have a feeling it's important.

"Nothing, Catnip. It's nothing," Gale responds, crossing his arms over his chest. I stand up straighter and look him straight in the eyes, hoping to convey what I believe to be a lethal expression.

"You're lying to me. Is it about the rebellion? I told you I want to help and I'm more than capable of doing that."

I don't even try to hide the hope that's laced behind my words. It has to be about the rebellion. Why else would they be speaking in puzzles? If it were really about their relationship they would be discussing that at one of their houses.

Gale pauses and then sighs deeply before he speaks.

"I know that. Believe me, I am waiting for the day I can tell you something about the rebellion. I want you to help. But there's nothing you or I can do right now. We are doing everything that we can. Believe me when I say that." he says quietly, looking at me sadly. I stare him down and as the seconds pass so do any semblance of hope I might have had about the future. I guess I was wrong.

I swallow thickly and change the subject.

"It's about Madge, then."

Gale turns his face away from me and he frowns deeply.

"You like her. Is that what I couldn't know?"

Gale huffs and turns to me again, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"No. I…I don't, it's…" he stumbles. Gale seems to be visibly angry but there's something else in his eyes. Confusion? It would be hilarious under different circumstances.

"Gale," I say quietly. "If you like her, I think you should tell her. Life's too short."

I leave him in the bathroom and crawl back into my bed. He turns the faucets off slowly and I can hear him pause before he leaves my room. I think maybe he wanted to say something. Either way, it's too late now.

* * *

It happens when the sun is setting and we are sitting down to dinner. Mother places a dish of something in front of me on the table and I catch a movement out the window in a small corner of my periphery.

Pink hair.

I stand up slowly, unsure if I'm hallucinating or not. Mother freezes by the sink when she hears the scrap of my chair legs on the wooden floor. Prim glances up at me from her seat across the table but I ignore her worried look. My legs carry me rather quickly to the window and when I look out across the street I'm filled so rapidly with such an all-consuming rage that I need to grip the windowsill to keep from stumbling.

There is a camera crew on the lawn in front of Peeta's house.

I haven't been able to think clearly for the longest time but for some reason, seeing a Capitol camera crew on Peeta's territory, fills me with a purpose I haven't possessed in months. My jaw sets painfully and I turn on my heel and march up the steps with surprising calm, turn into my bathroom, grab my bow and arrows and march straight back downstairs.

"Katniss, no!" Prim shouts but I pay her no notice. It's all so clear right now: I need to protect him. He isn't here, I know that, but his house across the street is still _his_ and I'm possessive to the point where _I_ haven't even stepped inside it yet.

I throw my front door open with such force that it slams loudly against the outside wall and knocks a potted plant off the window ledge. The noise grabs the attention of the pink haired reporter and her crew across the street. They seem to have been in the middle of some telecast. They all turn in my direction but I've already let an arrow fly, sending it straight across the lawn into the lens of the Capitol video camera. The glass of the lens shatters and the man who was holding it drops it to the ground, screeching like a small girl. I fly down the steps and string another arrow in the process.

The three Capitolites stand on Peeta's lawn like statues, too frightened to move. I'm 20 feet from them when the pink-haired reporter woman moves, scurrying back against the side of the porch, her eyes wide with terror.

_Too bad I destroyed the camera_, I think to myself. _A shot of the elusive, heart-broken Katniss Everdeen would have been media gold._

The cameraman stumbles over his own feet and lands heavily in the grass while the other man, who is covered in a series of black face tattoos, backs towards the wall of Peeta's house. I don't know who I should point my next arrow at but I ultimately decide for the pink-haired woman, probably because her garish appearance reminds me so easily of the man who destroyed my life.

"Get out," I say menacingly. When the woman doesn't immediately respond, I send my arrow into the wood column four inches from her face. She screams and my heart beats against my ribs. I'm afraid that if they don't leave soon, I may actually kill her and her henchmen. I don't want to, but right now I don't think I'm fully responsible for what's happening.

"I said," I say so quietly I know they have to strain to hear me, "Get. Out."

The cameraman to my right struggles to get up and backs away, almost tripping again in the process. The pink-haired woman slides against the porch until she runs out of house, her head trembling on her thin, bejeweled neck. When she reaches the man with the tattoos, she grabs his arm and he starts leading her away.

"If you come back here, I assure you I won't miss," I spit with every ounce of venom I can muster. "They say I'm a reliable shot."

My parting words send the three of them running down the street and into town, likely to catch the next train back to the Capitol. As they turn the corner, my hands start to shake violently and every ounce of confidence I previously held disappears entirely from my body.

I turn back to my house to see my mother holding a crying Prim against her chest. It occurs to me rather suddenly that she's never seen me shoot in person; her first experience was of me attacking another human. It's the exact opposite of what I wanted for her. It's a part of the reason I volunteered at the Reaping. My stomach sinks to my toes when I realize I've tarnished her anyway.

I hear a loud thump from somewhere behind me and turn to see that Haymitch has thrown open his door and is currently running down his porch steps looking ill in the face.

I clutch the bow to my chest tightly and try to ignore the pounding behind my ears.

_What have I done?_

"Inside, sweetheart," Haymitch says gravely. "Inside, now." I'm stuck in a state of panicked shock so I don't question Haymitch as he leads me into Peeta's house, even though I'm absolutely positive I am not ready for this.

Haymitch opens Peeta's front door and switches on the light. I'm crying before I even cross the threshold.

"Please," I beg. "Not here. I can't." I focus on Haymitch's face, knowing that if I look anywhere else I may dissolve into a full-blown mental breakdown. His house is too much. It smells like him and the realization has my heart palpitating painfully against my sternum.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" Haymitch seethes. His eyes are burning and surprisingly clear. I shake my head at his question and grip my bow so tightly I think it might snap.

"You've actually lost your mind, haven't you?" Haymitch whispers and for the life of me, I cannot tell if he is being serious or not. I start to blubber incoherently at him, which only seems to confirm to both of us that I have absolutely lost my mind.

"They're going to send the Peacekeeper's here soon. You know that?"

I didn't know that.

"You're in deep shit, now," Haymitch says. "You stay here. I'm getting your family."

I watch as Haymitch slams Peeta's front door behind him, and I blindly try to wipe the tears from my eyes. It doesn't take long for Haymitch to gather my mother and my sister and before I know it, they're being ushered through Peeta's front door. At the sight of Prim's tear-filled face, I drop my bow on the floor and pull her into my arms.

"I'm sorry, Prim," I whisper, trying to stop my tears and failing. Everything is unraveling fast and I know in the pit of my stomach that this is bad. Very bad. Not only have I put myself in danger, I've more or less signed my family's death warrant. It was only a matter of time before I snapped, I just did it in front of the wrong people.

"Upstairs," Haymitch says quietly and I hug Prim tighter.

"No!" I wail, filled with a completely different sort of panic. "I can't go there. He's—"

"If it makes you feel better, you'll probably be joining him in the greater beyond soon enough," Haymitch spits with an anger I haven't seen from him. Haymitch rips me from Prim and throws me towards the stairs. I stumble on my feet, and suck my sobs back into my body.

I tremble as I follow him up the stairs and into Peeta's bathroom, not even bothering to wipe my tears, which are now flowing heavily down my cheeks.

"You listen to me," Haymitch says carefully. "Once the Peacekeepers find out about this, you're done. They're not like old Cray anymore. They'll whip you in front of District 12. But once Snow finds out about this, he'll probably come for you himself. I have a feeling this is the excuse he's been waiting for to come snatch you up. When that happens, death would be the easier option."

My mind spins as I try to process Haymitch's words. It's not easy, especially considering I'm in Peeta's bathroom and it smells so strongly of him. The combination of what just happened and being so close to Peeta, yet so far, is devastating.

"My family?" I choke out. Haymitch looks at me carefully.

"You know already," he says softly.

And I do. They'll be eliminated.

I don't say anything more to Haymitch. Instead, I nod and silently follow him back out of the bathroom, avoiding looking at Peeta's room even though I know I might not be alive much longer anyway.

When I get back downstairs, Haymitch tells my mother and sister to go hide in the basement, which they do wordlessly. Before they go, I give them each a quick hug, too overwhelmed to say or do anything more meaningful. Haymitch leaves the house and I don't ask him why.

I pick my bow and arrows up off the floor, sit against the wall across from the front door and wait.

* * *

An hour passes when I hear someone walk up the front steps. I move to a kneeling position and string an arrow, but the person who comes through the door is not one I expect.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Rye, lowering my arrow slightly.

Rye looks me over and when he determines that I won't shoot, he moves inside.

"I want to be here," Rye says as he closes the door behind him carefully. His answer is stupid and I know that he can see it in my face. He smiles, anyway, not one to be perturbed by my dourness. Definitely not one to be perturbed by the situation.

"You want to be here?" I ask flatly.

"That new Peacekeeper, Thread, I think," Rye continues. "He's been cracking down on everyone. Madge told me what happened this evening and I knew that someone needed to be here with you. In case Thread comes," he explains.

"He will come," I answer back. I've already accepted it.

"I know he will," Rye says.

"So why put yourself in danger? I've dug my own grave, you don't need to jump in there with me," I snap and Rye looks annoyed by my outburst.

"Because my little brother loved you," he responds with an edge to his tone, looking at me straight in the eyes. "I want to honor him somehow. God knows I didn't do it before. So if that means I put myself in danger trying to protect you, so be it."

He's such an idiot. Why doesn't he just stay in the safety of his home in Town? He'll be killed if he stays here with me and I know that Peeta wouldn't want that. More people dead at my hands. The thought makes me sick.

"I can protect myself. I think I pretty much proved that point earlier today," I argue, lowering my bow completely even though Rye is frustrating me so much I have the urge to shoot him anyway.

"Who says that protecting yourself is just a physical skill?"

This silences me. Unfortunately, I found out the hard way that I cannot protect myself emotionally. I tried, but his damn brother peeled away my layers until I was completely exposed. I trusted that he would always protect me, considering I left myself so open to him. But now that he's not here anymore, I don't want to trust anyone. I look at Rye and see understanding flash in his eyes.

"You sound like him," I whisper, wishing immediately I could take the words and put them back in my mouth. I will not shed tears in front of this man. Rye sighs and sits down next to the closed front door.

"Thank you," he says, leaning back against the wall. I put my head in my hands and wait for it all to be over.

* * *

I sit in anxious silence for hours, watching the sun disappear beyond the horizon from the place I've taken up on the floor. Rye has tried to make conversation, tried to crack a joke here and there but it's all been in vain. He must know it's the end as well. In a moment of absolute weakness I grabbed Peeta's old sweater off the back of the couch and pulled it over my head. It's funny how easy it is allow myself to sink into my feelings for him when I know what's coming. Why deprive myself of this one thing? If I'm going to be killed, I may as well take my last breath while breathing in the scent of him. That's the only comfort I can think of in the moment.

I pull the collar of the sweater higher and rub the material against my cheek. I don't cry but my eyes burn because they've been open for so long. My mind is oddly blank.

I'm about to ask Rye what time is when I hear a loud rumbling from outside, followed by a flashing of lights.

_This is it_, I think. _They've come for me._

I stand up slowly and knock an arrow. Rye stands as well, drawing a large knife that he pulled from the kitchen earlier. We share a silent glance before there is a pounding on the front porch. I pull the arrow back. We locked the door after Rye arrived, knowing full well that if someone wanted to come in, they could. We figured that the extra time would be beneficial anyway. I pray that once they find me, they won't search the rest of the house and that somehow my mother and sister will be spared. I've wanted Prim with me the last few hours but I know it's safer for her to be downstairs, hidden in the dark.

_Please just let Prim be OK. _

But as I watch someone kick in Peeta's door, I know that isn't a possibility. I've failed her. I've failed to do the one thing I swore to do when my father died: protect Prim. The disgust I feel for myself is something I cannot put into words.

I swallow thickly—my throat's gone dry. A thousand thoughts run through my head in this moment, but none of them are coherent. They're more like a series of small moments. Prim laughing as lady licks her cheek. Swimming in the lake outside of 12 with my father. Hunting with Gale. Trading in the Hob. Kissing Peeta in the cave. Yelling at Haymitch. Holding Peeta's hand. Watching Prim dance at Mayor Undersee's house. Running to Peeta's house in the dark. Watching Madge play the piano. Kissing Peeta in my bathroom. Peeta's body pressing me into his mattress on our last night together. Peeta, Peeta, Peeta.

Someone finally kicks the door in and I move to the corner, out of sight, aiming the arrow at the foyer.

"Do you have visual confirmation?" I hear someone ask. The voice is deep and gravelly and one I definitely do not recognize.

"Let me in first, Boggs, she won't come to you," I hear someone respond, the voice registering briefly in my mind. I glance at Rye again but his eyes are trained on the door.

"Katniss?" I hear someone ask into the dark. I creep even further into the corner. The arms of Peeta's sweater are too big and I know that they will impede my shot so I'm filled with a blind panic when someone turns the corner into Peeta's living room. I start to fumble with the bow but it slips from my fingers completely when I see who it is.

"What the…" Rye trails off.

It's absolutely him. He's unmistakable, especially the way the moonlight plays lightly off his bronze hair. I can see the green in his eyes even all the way from across the dark room. I try to legitimize Finnick Odair's presence but come up empty.

"Hey there Girl on Fire," Finnick says through the dark. He is wearing a dark, thick uniform and he puts something into a pocket on the front of his jacket. "Now I'd love to catch up but I'm afraid we're on a bit of a tight schedule. The shit hit the fan fairly quickly so we need to get out of here. If you could follow me that would be supreme," he says with a dazzling smile.

Finnick presses against his ear and speaks into a headpiece.

"Target spotted, prepare for launch."

I don't move, my muscles have frozen solid. Finnick's alive? It can't be possible. It's impossible and yet he's here. Somewhere deep inside of me something I thought was long dead reawakens. Finnick moves towards me and on instinct I grab the fallen bow and restring the arrow, pointing it directly at his chest.

"Woahh," Finnick nearly shouts, raising his hands up in surrender. "Believe me when I say you're going to want to follow me. The people that are next in line to see you will not be as pleasant."

"Maybe you could explain to us what the fuck is going on," Rye hisses from his spot next to me. Finnick turns his head quickly in his direction and I see his eyebrows raise slightly.

"Well hey there! Another Mellark. You know, I don't think your baby bro is going to be too happy with you when I tell him you've been shacking up with _his_ girl in _his_ old house," Finnick says lightly.

Just like that, my limbs to turn ice.

"What did you say?" I snap, forcing my heart back down my throat. Finnick looks at me again. "What did you just say?" I say again, softer.

"About your guy?" Finnick asks. "Hasn't anyone told you?"

I stare back at him in confusion, my bow trembling in my hands. Finnick's mouth drops open a little as he looks at me.

"Oh, shit," he whispers, looking quickly between Rye and myself. "You don't know, do you. Peeta's in District 13, Katniss. He's alive."

My fingers slip and the arrow I was holding clatters to the floor.

Alive.

Peeta's alive.

I feel faint and my breath comes out in a shallow gasp. Finnick nods slowly, smiling. I scowl at him instantly. He's lying to me, he must be. But deep down—deep, deep, down—I want to believe that he isn't. My thoughts start running rampant in my head, carrying me away with them. He was still breathing when the rocks collapsed.

_He was breathing. _

A series of gunshots bring me out of my reverie.

"You need to come with me," Finnick says, much more serious now. "We're taking you to District 13."

Finnick strides towards me and takes my arm gently. It's only when he's pulling me towards the door do I remember.

"No!" I yell. "No, my family is downstairs!" I plead struggling against Finnick's grasp. He pauses and looks towards Rye who has not left my side.

"You get them," Finnick orders, pulling me towards the door again. "Quick, too. If the bombs haven't started dropping now, they're bound to start."

I begin to panic now, and I try franticly to pull away from Finnick's hold.

"What? No, I won't leave without my mother and Prim!" I scream. "No!" And then I remember Gale and the Hawthornes and Madge and Haymitch and struggle absolutely against Finnick, who holds me tightly against his chest. Nothing makes sense. Finnick shouldn't be here. He's lying. Finnick is lying and Peeta is dead. He's always been dead. This is all clearly some elaborately planned trick. I try to aim a few punches at Finnick's face but he dodges them before forcing my arms down and behind me.

"God, Peeta wasn't lying when he said you'd be difficult," Finnick mutters. He's too strong, and my bow drops to the ground, causing me to struggle even more against his stone-like grasp. I see Rye reappear with my mother and Prim, both of whom look terrified.

"Prim!" I scream, whipping my head back and forth, hoping to knock Finnick out so I can get away. "Let go of me!" I screech, clawing at his hands and thinking of the bombs that are going to rain down on Gale and Madge and Haymitch. "My friends, please!"

"If you don't stop, Everdeen, I'm going to have to sedate you," Finnick says clearly. If his words are supposed to have a calming affect, they do the exact opposite. I flail against him, making unintelligible noises of protest. I'm about to shout at Rye to make a run for it when I feel Finnick search for something in his pocket.

"Fine then. Don't say I didn't warn you," he says before I feel a sharp pain in my side. I look wildly around the dark room, my eyes landing on Prim's as she is rushed passed me. My limbs begin to turn heavy and I slump uselessly against Finnick's arms. He lifts me up over his shoulder and starts to carry me through Peeta's front door. My vision twists and rolls. Finnick's voice seems faint as he calls something into his headpiece. I can make out an unnatural amount of bright light before I'm pulled under completely.


	21. Chapter 21

It's the noises that I identify with first as I gain consciousness. I can hear the soft sounds of beeping machines and the whirr of something mechanical over the soft murmuring of voices; it's exactly what I woke up to after my Hunger Games but my head is too cloudy for me to start panicking yet. Slowly I begin to feel, though. My mouth is dry and my head aches terribly. In the back of my mind, I think this is probably what it's like for Haymitch when he wakes after a long night of drinking. The room vibrates a little, jostling my body slightly and I groan as my head pounds.

"Katniss."

It's Prim. Her voice sounds thousands of miles away, though. I reach out in search of her with heavy arms, still unable to open my eyes.

"Katniss, it's OK now. You're safe," Prim says, her voice becoming clearer with each passing second. I blink my eyes open only to shut them closed immediately after. Too bright.

"Finnick said you would be uncomfortable for a few minutes after the sedative wore off but it's nothing to worry about," Prim explains. I can feel her hand on my face smoothing away the hair on my forehead.

It takes a few moments until everything comes back to me.

_The camera crew and the arrows. Haymitch's warning. Mother and Prim in the basement. Rye and Finnick Odair. _

_The bombs. _

The beeping to my right increases in frequency and I push at the cot I must be lying on, struggling to keep my eyes open long enough to see where I am.

A room, though I can't see the entirety of it because of a thin curtain that's been pulled in front of my cot. There are an inordinate amount of machines, one of which I'm plugged into.

"Prim," I gasp, before I make a series of unintelligible sounds. My mind isn't connecting with my mouth, which only makes me more distressed. I push up into a sitting position and everything around me comes spinning dizzily into view. The fluorescent lights bounce off the unyielding metal of the walls sharply, forcing me to shut my eyes again.

"Katniss, calm down, it's OK," Prim soothes, though her voice trembles slightly. Terror courses through me as I begin to remember the flashing lights and quacking ground of District 12 before whatever it was Finnick shot into me pulled me under.

"The bombs, Prim," I cry, though it doesn't sound like more than a harsh whisper. "Where's mother? We have to go back. Haymitch. And the Hawthornes and Madge," I sputter, slurring my words together. "The bombs, Prim I—"

"They're OK Katniss," Prim says quietly. She's trying to calm me, obviously because she keeps glancing at the machine to my right which won't stop beeping. I look down at my chest and see a small wire taped to the area right above my heart. Horrified, I move to peel it off my chest but Prim grabs my hands. "You can't. This is to make sure you don't get too worked up. Please, you need to trust me."

The look of absolute dismay on my face must have her backtracking.

"Mother is around the corner tending to Peeta's brother. Haymitch, the Hawthornes and Madge are all fine. I heard on the radio that they're on a hovercraft, too. I made Finnick check for me."

At the sound of his name my heart rate picks up again and I clutch Prim's arm to the point where it must be painful for her. I shake my head violently despite the way it aches. She can't trust Finnick, he's lying.

"Finnick!" Prim calls, an edge to her voice.

"No, Prim you can't listen to him, he's a liar. He was telling lies before he took us," I explain wildly.

"_Peeta's in District 13, Katniss. He's alive."_

Liar.

My head is throbbing painfully and I tentatively bring a hand up to my temple only to be met with some heavily padded gauzing. The beeping to my right increases even more and once Finnick comes around the thin curtain, it goes on furiously, setting off some sort of alarm to my left. I scramble as far away from him as I can until I'm met with the cold metal of the wall behind me.

"Katniss, please calm down. Your heart rate is too fast," Prim says softly, touching my cheek. My vision, which has been cloudy at best, finally focuses. Prim seems to be unharmed and it's the only thing keeping me from attacking Finnick, who is standing across from me and smiling stupidly.

"I see you've succumbed to the world of the wakeful," he says with a grin. I clutch Prim's arm and pull her towards me.

"Where am I?" I mean for it to come out as more of an accusation but my head hurts so much that I more or less croak the words.

"You, my friend, are en route to District 13. We're on a hovercraft. Unfortunately we had to take a little round-a-bout route—Capitol soldiers were on to us—so we are a tad behind schedule. As we were leaving the house the Capitol forces had already started to arrive. They dropped a bomb at the entrance to your Victor's Village, which explains your head." Finnick winces visibly. "I'm really sorry about that, by the way. Shrapnel was coming from all different directions. Not that I think he'd 100% blame me, but I was kind of hoping to deliver you back to Peeta unscathed. Now they're going to want to keep you overnight in the hospital and—"

"Peeta's dead," I spit and the more I speak, the more hysterical I become. "Don't lie to me anymore. And District 13 was destroyed decades ago. Where are you taking us?" The end of my sentence comes out as a screech and Prim cringes next to me.

"He's not lying Katniss," Prim tries to console me. "They've been communicating with District 13 the whole time we've been on the hovercraft."

I can only gape at her.

"I'm beginning to _really_ get the sense that you have been left completely in the dark about all of this," Finnick says seriously and I look back at him, bewildered. He studies me intently and in the harsh lighting I can make out a series of thin, white scars on his cheek.

"Should I start from the beginning, then?" When I don't respond, Finnick nods and starts to speak.

"I'll give you the quick version. There has been a rebellion in the works for years and as it timed out, was able to come to," he pauses, thinking of the right word, "fruition," he continues with a motioning of his hands, "during the 75th Quarter Quell. The few rebels that existed were able to remain under the radar until last year, when you and Peeta threw everyone for a loop. That's about when President Snow and his advisors started to smoke people out."

Prim pats my arm in a comforting gesture but I can't seem to stop scowling at Finnick.

"Needless to say, those of us who were more…suspicious…than others were Reaped, including good old Lover Boy."

My stomach flips uncomfortably. There's no way that Finnick is telling the truth now. Peeta didn't know any more about the rebellion than I did. There's no way.

"Now, wait a second, I can see the wheels turning in your head. Peeta had no idea that any sort of rebel activity was happening until myself, and a few other trusted Victors, convinced him once we were already in training. Long story short, there was a rescue mission and it worked. Do you remember the cave-in?"

As a response, I give Finnick a look so nasty he looks slightly taken aback. How on earth could I forget the cave-in? The cave-in marked the beginning of the end of my life.

"Well, that was planned the whole time. The Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee, is a major player in the rebellion and was able to smuggle us out to District 13. You'd be surprised how little the Capitol cares about dead Tributes. No one even bothered to check for our bodies."

Finnick finishes talking but I'm still trying to catch up. I met Plutarch Heavensbee during the Victory Tour and he didn't seem like a rebel at all. And how could the Tributes have communicated with each other in the Capitol? The thought is absolutely ridiculous. Effie said that Peeta was buried in the Capitol. And Peeta was already so sick…

"But he…" I stammer. "His shoulder. And that spear," I sputter, dredging up wounds so old and festering that the mere mention of Peeta's Quell injuries makes me feel like I might vomit.

"Listen," Finnick says and his easy smile disappears completely, replaced with a look so ghostly I can finally see through the façade he puts up. "We didn't know what exactly we were going to find in the arena and I still can't live with myself because of what Peeta did that last minute," he says quietly. "I'm not going to sit here and lie to you. Peeta…" Finnick says, trailing off, a far off look clouding his eyes. He seems to think about what he wants to say for a while and I let him. I don't know how to tell him that I think all of this is ridiculous; my head hurts and I'm still a little woozy.

Finnick's gaze meets mine again and the look he gives me is so serious it makes him appear 10 years older than he is.

"Peeta was in a coma for three and a half weeks after we were rescued. His heart almost gave out six separate times and there were a few very dark days when we honestly had no idea if he was going to make it or not. The wound to his shoulder was a lot worse than the medics thought and both him and Jo were so thoroughly poisoned by the time we were rescued that..." Finnick's voice dies somewhere in the middle of his sentence. I watch him as he closes his eyes and shakes his head lightly. Dread begins to pool somewhere in my stomach, making its way into my lungs and up my throat like an oily snake. Finnick turns to face me again, resolute.

"The stab wound to his side was so deep that they had to remove one of his kidneys. Even after he woke from his coma, he couldn't leave his bed for another two weeks. He doesn't rest because he can't. He exhausts himself with physical therapy. We've all been through hell and back but Peeta's had it worse than any of us this time around."

My breath catches in my throat and I try to control my breathing. Peeta's always had it worse than anyone.

"But I'm telling you this, because despite everything, he's _fought _to stay alive and he is waiting for you."

I stare a Finnick, unblinking.

"_But it does_," he said. I had just told him I loved him and I was disgusted with myself for distracting him from training. He didn't care. "_It gives me something to fight for_."

Prim squeezes my hand and I turn to see that she's smiling softly.

"You know, he wanted to come here himself but was deemed 'too emotionally involved'. You can probably guess he wasn't pleased about that—he broke some things," Finnick continues with a rueful smirk. "I'm surprised they let me come get you, considering the amount of pent up sexual energy there is between us."

I glower at Finnick but he only laughs loudly, the sound shaking off the metallic walls.

"Ah, there is it! Now we're back to normal," he beams. "If you think_ I'm_ bad, just wait until you meet Jo! You are going to _hate_ her." Finnick turns to Prim who is smiling so large I can see all of her teeth. "It's going to be wonderful."

There is a moment of silence where all I can do is try desperately not to let my thoughts take me away to a place where Peeta might be alive. It's too much, it's all too much.

"Katniss, Peeta's brother is on this hovercraft. He…" Prim starts, looking a Finnick pleadingly.

"Big brother was nicked in the shoulder by some errant gunfire. He's fine," Finnick finishes.

"He jumped in front of me, Katniss," Prim whispers. I take hold of her hand, too drained to say anything. Another Mellark saves another Everdeen girl. When will it stop? I'm too distracted by the information Finnick sent my way 10 minutes earlier to grasp just how grateful I feel, how Rye Mellark has suddenly gained my respect and trust. It's all in the back of my mind.

"He's awake, you know," Finnick adds. "I saw your mother redressing his bandages. You can go talk to him."

Prim looks to me, guilt clouding over her features.

"Go, Prim," I say quietly, my mind running circles. "I'll be fine." Prim gives my hand a quick squeeze before she disappears behind the corner. I slip down on the wall and rest my head on the thin pillow of the bench, curling my legs into my chest. Finnick doesn't leave. In fact, he seems to make himself comfortable in the chair Prim was previously sitting in. I don't trust this place enough to close my eyes, even though my lids feel heavy.

"I understand that you don't trust me yet," Finnick says quietly and I turn my head to look at him.

"Peeta trusted you in the arena," I respond without thinking. I'm not lying, that much is clear. Peeta trusted Finnick in the arena with his life. He had to and as much as I want to completely discount whatever Finnick says to me, the fact that Peeta trusted him nips at me.

Finnick nods, words failing him for a moment, as he looks at the opposite wall.

"I owe him my life. It's why I insisted I headline the mission to save you even though I'm not technically cleared to do so."

"What?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah. I broke some rules to be on this mission. Peeta…didn't trust that they would come back with you until I promised him I would see to it myself."

"People don't realize how stubborn he can be," I nearly whisper, remembering all the times on the Victory Tour he wouldn't let them separate us. He was so insistent about it that it began to irritate even me. "I guess I should thank you for saving me, then."

Finnick smiles again and he runs a hand through his tousled hair.

"He's become my best friend. Besides Jo, obviously. It just kind of happens when you spend nearly 5 months together," Finnick explains and though I want to look away from him, I can't. "I know him. It's like you can tell he's not really there with us sometimes. He's haunted. If you're there, though, I know he'll come back."

I shut my eyes forcefully and try not to get my hopes up for something so impossible. I can't help it though, especially with the way Finnick is speaking, talking about Peeta as if he really is in District 13 waiting for me.

"Finnick?" I ask, my voice so small I think it might disappear. He turns to look at me quickly, surely thrown off by my change in tone. Through the sliver of curtain I can see Prim kneeling besides another cot. It must be Rye.

"I won't believe you unless I see him," I whisper. I can't let myself believe him right now. If I do, if I let myself hope for something I've wanted for so long to be true, and I'm disappointed…I think it would kill me.

Even as I think it, I know I'm being absurd. My hopes _are_ up. I really hope Peeta is waiting for me.

At my words Finnick turns around and smiles so widely I think it might actually be painful for him.

"I know you won't, Girl on Fire," he says with a nudge to my foot. "Unlike your boy, people can pretty easily grasp how stubborn _you_ can be."

* * *

Finnick talks to me quietly the rest of the time we're in the hovercraft. He explains how the rebel forces in each district knew that District 13 existed, but up until a few days ago, none of them knew that any of the Victors survived the Quell.

Apparently Gale knew about District 13 and that can only mean that Madge knew as well. I don't know if Haymitch knew or not but they lied to me either way. I wonder exactly when Gale found out that Peeta was alive but I was so depressed and absent that I can't pinpoint an exact time or place. I'm too confused to be angry at him yet, though I know when I see him next I'll probably scratch out his eyes.

I don't know what to say to Finnick about all of this, it's a lot of information to be presented with, so I just watch my mother as she tends to Rye through the sliver of curtain. The closer we get to our destination, the more preoccupied I become, too nervous about the possibility of Peeta being alive to think about anything else, which includes the entirety of District 13 itself, something I haven't even concerned myself with.

We land in a blur. There are no windows in the hovercraft so I can't see where we are exactly. When I ask Finnick, he tells me that District 13 is completely underground. The idea is preposterous but so is everything else Finnick has been telling. I can only scoff at him.

When the doors of the hovercraft open, Finnick and a soldier I've been told is called 'Boggs' escort me into an enormous hangar and lead me towards a heavy metal door at the far side of the giant room.

"Miss Everdeen, we need to take you to the hospital. The wound on your head needs to be treated and you're likely dehydrated," Boggs tells me. I'm shaking my head before he finishes his sentence, searching for Finnick amongst the commotion of the landed hovercraft.

"No, you take me to Peeta," I order, though I'm looking at Finnick the whole time. "Peeta Mellark," I continue, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I need to see him."

"Miss, I have orders to take you directly to the hospital," the soldier continues. My head pounds and my hands start to shake despite the fact that I'm clutching them together. Prim holds my arm and I hear mother speaking to Rye in back of me softly.

"Katniss, Peeta will probably be waiting at the door to the launch pad," Finnick explains, trying to mollify me. "He was there when we left and I highly doubt he's left the spot." My eyes whip around the hangar and I bring Prim to my side.

"They can't take me anywhere until I see him," I explain anxiously, realizing that the entire time I spent not getting my hopes up about Peeta was in vain.

Our small squad is eerily silent as we walk towards the large metal doors at the end of the tunnel and with each step I take the more overwhelmed I become. It's all too much. Not six hours ago I was in my kitchen with mother and Prim and now I'm in the otherwise destroyed District 13.

To see Peeta.

The man named Boggs talks into his earpiece before pressing a series of buttons to the right of the metal doors. They slide open unceremoniously and I'm ushered after Finnick into a brightly lit hallway, followed closely by Prim and Boggs.

"Honey, we're home!" Finnick calls loudly, as I try to take in the expanse of white walls and shiny tiled floors before me.

My heart is silent in my chest when I hear him.

"Katniss."

My entire body turns at his voice and then, just across the hall, he's there. My hands fly to my mouth and are completely unsuccessful in containing the whimper that spills forth.

Peeta stands tall about twenty feet from where I'm frozen at the door, his blonde hair sticking up in every direction. I feel Prim let go of my hand at the same time I see Peeta drop a knotted piece of rope.

Then he is striding towards me.

I yank my arm from Boggs' light grasp and start down the hallway, pressing my lips together in a straight, determined line. It takes no more than 5 seconds before I collide with his chest and we stumble into the wall. My arms tremble as throw them around his neck and he responds by holding me tightly around my middle.

He is _here_ and he is _alive_ and I think I might hyperventilate. My fingers dig into his back, and through his thin cotton clothing I can feel the heat radiate off of him in waves.

_He's so warm. He's always been so warm._

My nose presses into his covered collarbone and I feel Peeta release a series of very shaky breathes against my neck. It makes my hair stand on end and I can feel goosebumps start to pimple my skin.

I don't know what it is exactly—maybe it's the combination of his smell and the way he feels pressing against me—but I'm filled with such an all-consuming relief, one so overwhelming, that I grow faint.

_He's here and I'm holding him. _

This is the time I should say something but I'm so dizzy with emotion that I'm surprised I haven't passed out yet. A sort of strangled noise fills the hallway and I realize too late that it's come from me. Peeta's arms loosen around my waist but I hug him tighter, completely unwilling to let go. I'll never do it again.

"I've dreamt about what I would say to you when I saw you again," Peeta whispers into my neck, pulling me impossibly closer. "I've thought about it for four straight months."

I shut my eyes tightly against his voice. I don't think he has a clue what it does to me, especially because I thought I'd never hear it again. Peeta pulls his face away just far enough to look at me and I get my first proper look at him. He's been sick, that much is obvious. He's paler than I've ever seen him and the faint purple bags under his eyes do nothing to hide how tired he is. His eyes, though, are exactly the same and I'm lost in them.

"I can't," he murmurs, as his fingers press into my waist. "There are no words for what I feel right now."

There are thousands of words for what I feel right now but there's no combination that could do it justice, even if my mouth was working and I could actually speak them. I sweep my fingers over his face and search for something to say to him. But it's my actions that have always spoken louder than my words, so I just decide to crush my lips to his.

It's a frantic kiss at first, both of us intent on devouring each other and completely ignorant to our audience down the hall. His lips are chapped and there's a light dusting of stubble along his chin and jaw line. I think my breathe might be stale as well but I'm positive I've never felt anything as wonderful as kissing him in this moment. We're frenzied in out movements and Peeta's hand moves the base of my neck, knotting itself in my tangled braid. As the seconds tick by, the rush dissipates and our mouths begin to move against one another more slowly, each shift of our lips deliberate and deep. I try desperately to communicate how I feel in this moment—with just a kiss—but Peeta has always been good at that. He's doing it now.

His hand moves to cup my jaw and when I feel his tongue slip against mine my knees almost buckle. Neither of us plan on ending the kiss, that much is clear, so when the need for air is too incessant we relent to resting our mouths against each other, lips brushing, as we breathe the other in. When I feel the corner of Peeta's mouth rise I speak almost immediately. I wonder if he remembers.

"Don't smile. I can't kiss you if you're smiling."

Peeta lets out a laugh so choked I think it might actually be a sob. It takes him a moment to compose himself, but eventually he sweeps his lips along my face until I feel him smile enormously into my cheek.

"I'm trying," he barely whispers. "Really, I'm trying not to."

I can't think of anything to say in response so I pull his lips to mine once more, reveling in the feel and taste of him. I thought this would never happen again and suddenly the memories of the last few months seep out of me. I don't want to cry but it's inevitable, I know. Peeta must sense it too because he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine.

"I love you so much," he murmurs, placing his palms on my cheeks and brushing his thumb along my nose. I can't look away from his eyes. It's as though I've forgotten how blue they are, even though the sea glass in my pocket is a constant reminder. I inhale deeply, something I thought would ground me but just ends up opening a vault of feelings so painful I can't breathe. I need to tell him how much I love him. How it's all I've been able to think about since I can't remember when. Instead I blurt out how it devastated me.

"You died," I choke. Peeta breathes heavily onto my face and I rest my hands on his cheeks, curling my thumbs under his jaw. His hair tickles my fingers, something that simultaneously comforts and destroys me. "I saw you…you…and it was months. Oh god, I really thought…" I trail off, beginning to lose control.

"I'm so sorry," he says and I feel his hands begin to shake on my cheeks. "Katniss, I'm so sorry for what happened and for the way it did."

It's ridiculous for him to be apologizing when I know deep down it's not his fault at all. I should probably be apologizing to him, considering the amount of pain he's been through, brought along by me. But because I'm a terrible person, and I'm not thinking properly, I make him promise me something I'm not sure he can keep.

"You can't ever do that to me," I whisper like a petulant child, heaving my words forth so as to keep the tears at bay. Peeta catches one on his thumb, anyway. He searches my eyes, looking heartbroken, as the words leave me, like it was just as bad for him as it was for me. "Promise me. You can't do that to me again, I won't survive it next time."

I can hear a series of footsteps moving toward us from down the hall so my hands move to grip Peeta's forearms tightly. He shifts one of his hands down to rest on the side of my neck and I watch while his eyes turn glassy as he speaks again. Peeta shakes his head.

"Never again. I promise you."

Finnick walks hurriedly towards us and I feel Peeta press his lips to the side of his face, just below my bandage.

"Boggs is about ready to call Coin himself if you don't follow him to the hospi—"

Somewhere in the middle of Finnick's sentence Peeta throws an arm around his shoulder and brings him to us in a strange three-person hug. It takes him a few seconds, but Finnick hugs Peeta back, all the while hesitantly patting my shoulder.

"Thank you," Peeta whispers fiercely. His face is pressed against my cheek and the words are said into my ear but I know without a doubt that he is talking to Finnick. He's thanking him for bringing me back.

"Anytime," Finnick answers softly before pulling away. "I'm serious about Boggs, though."

Peeta won't let go of me, even as Finnick urges him to start moving down the hall.

"I'm coming then," he says to Finnick, releasing me but in the process, snaking an arm around my waist. Finnick gives him a look but Peeta presses on. "I don't care about the damn visitation hours. They'll have to drag me away."

I shift impossibly closer to Peeta and grip his hand tightly in mine. They will not separate us again. I just got him back.

"Peeta, man, I know. Okay? Let's deal with it when we get there? Boggs looks like he is going to have a stroke, alright?"

Peeta glances down the hall to a very tense-looking Boggs and nods. Finnick leads us down the hall and Peeta twines the fingers of his free hand with mine before bringing them to his mouth.

"I don't think you'll ever me able to get rid of me again," he says with a smile before placing a light kiss on my knuckles. I smile back at him, the first time I've done so in months. True to his form, Peeta lightens the situation in a way I'm confident no one else would be able to. It's the way his eyes crinkle and his mouth lifts higher than the other that comfort me, even if we're in District 13 and I have no idea what is happening. It's something no one else can do quite like Peeta.

I stare up at him, unable to look away while we walk down the hall.

"Good," I respond.

* * *

District 13's hospital is no where near as advanced as what the Capitol has to offer but the facilities are still so much more than what I'm used to in District 12 that it's overwhelming nonetheless. I'm set to stay in the clinic overnight, which happens to be the same place Rye is being treated for his bullet wound. Prim sits with me while the District 13 nurses tend to my head and set me up with an IV drip. She assures me the whole time that it's routine but I know the only reason I'm allowing it is because Peeta assured the same thing.

Watching Prim and Peeta's reunion, as she cried onto his shoulder was one of the most crushing things I've ever witnessed. I don't know what she said to him but it was enough to make Peeta tear up. He never cries.

Haymitch strides into the hospital while Peeta is speaking with Rye on the other side of the room, signaling to me that everyone else is back. He tries to talk to me but I want nothing to do with him and I tell him as much. Haymitch looks slightly furious but it's something I'm used to seeing out of him.

"And you can tell Gale that I don't want to talk to him, either. Apparently none of you thought it was that important before, I don't see why now would be any different," I tell him coldly. I'm impressed with myself that I haven't tried attacking Haymitch yet, but I attribute it to exhaustion and my pounding headache. Haymitch huffs and is about to retaliate when Peeta comes back to my bed. Try as I might to be angry at Haymitch, I cannot help but notice the way he hugs Peeta or the way Peeta's voice cracks when he thanks him. For what, I don't know.

"I didn't do anything, boy. Ask the girl," Haymitch responds gruffly. He doesn't look at us as he leaves.

Peeta takes Prim's place when she leaves for the night. He sits in an uncomfortable chair at the side of my bed and takes my hand carefully in his, running his fingers over my knuckles before glancing up at me, smiling softly.

"You weren't with your brother very long," I say quietly, curling my fingers into his palm. I'd much rather have him up here with me but the nurses still aren't pleased that Peeta is staying and one of them is checking my IV. Peeta speaks as he continues playing with my fingers but his eyes are trained on my face.

"Rye said, and I quote, 'Don't be an ass, Peet. If you're honestly going to sit here with me while I'm hoped up on meds instead of sucking face with your girlfriend, who thought you were dead for almost four months, you don't deserve a dick.'"

He smiles at the last part but I can't seem to return it. Finding out Peeta is alive after months of thinking he was dead is the most overpowering emotion I've ever felt. I can feel my throat start to close up and I swallow drily, watching as the nurse walks away from my bed.

"Peeta," I whisper. He moves closer to me at that, gripping my hand gently in his. I can't believe that I forgot how big and warm his hands are. The realization has me fighting back tears.

"Please can you come here?"

My voice is high and tight and I can feel my face pinch as I try to keep from crying. Peeta doesn't need to be asked twice, he knows exactly what I mean. I scoot over as he climbs into the tiny hospital bed and once he's made sure he won't fall out, he scoops me up and hugs me close.

That's when I lose it.

I haven't been known for being particularly stable these past few months, but I honestly don't care that I'm crying right now. I cry for Peeta and I cry for myself. I cry because I thought he'd never be able to hold me again. I cry because he is so warm and he smells like sugar and vanilla and _Peeta_ and because he's whispering lovely things into my hair. I cry because I missed him and I cry because I love him and I cry because this whole time I thought he was gone.

"You don't know," I hiccup, once my sobs have died down enough for me to speak. "You don't know how much I need you."

I had alternated between pressing my face into his chest and his neck while I wept so after a while I finally brave a look at his face. His eyes are watery with unshed tears and they look enormous in his face. His cheeks are sunken in and the harsh lighting of the hospital makes the bags under his eyes even more pronounced.

"Maybe I never told you enough," I whisper as he starts to open his mouth in a reply. "I never told you how much I love you," I explain, bringing my hand to his face, "which is a lot. I am…I love you so much."

I rest my head on the pillow so I can look at him, continuing to stroke his cheek with my thumb. Peeta looks completely unable to form words so I continue, not sure where my sudden verbal confidence is coming from.

"I think I realized it even more after you left…I was lost."

Peeta shifts closer to me, wrapping an arm over my stomach. He presses kisses into my hair as he speaks.

"You saved me, Katniss," he says, voice low. I feel it reverberate off his chest and into my side where we're pressed together. "In the arena—in training even—all I had to do was think of you. You were reason alone not to give up. Remember when you made me promise not to?"

I nod, turning my face on the pillow, and our noses touch. Neither of us move away.

"And then afterwards, when I was in the hospital here, your promise kept me from giving up again."

My face contorts when I remember Finnick's explanation of Peeta's wounds. Of how sick he was and of how they almost lost him so many different times.

I slide my hand down his neck to where the collar of his shirt begins. Peeta's eyes don't leave mine as I pull away the fabric, revealing a small fraction of the scarred mess that is his shoulder. The flesh is pink and puckered, ridged and gnarled. I'm hesitant to touch it—I don't want to hurt him—but touch him anyway. I can feel Peeta swallow as I run my fingers over the scarred skin. It's more extensive than what I can see.

I put his collar back carefully and then move down to where his shirt meets his pants, lifting up the material until I can see the clean, sharp scar on his hip. This mark isn't as ugly as the one on his shoulder but I can tell by the way the skin dips that it was more damaging.

"Do they hurt?" I ask, feeling as though I might cry again.

"Not with you here," Peeta responds and I give him a small, strangled laugh because there's literally nothing else I can do.

"Finnick told me," I swallow thickly, "that you were really hurt."

Peeta doesn't respond immediately, choosing instead to kiss me on my cheek, my nose, my lips. He fingers my braid when he pulls away, rooting me with his stare.

"I was."

"Will you be okay?" I ask, my voice the tiniest I've ever heard it. I can't even look at him when I ask, suddenly terrified of the answer.

"No one thought so," he says. "But I've been proving everyone wrong since Day 1. The doctors say I'll be fine now, so long as I keep up with my physical therapy and don't lose my other kidney," he laughs.

Peeta smiles when I scowl.

"So I'm back to the drawing board with trying to coax a smile out of you, is that it?" Peeta asks, tracing the outline of my upper lip.

"I don't think you joking about your injuries is funny. That's not funny to me. It's never been funny to me." I hug him tighter, for no reason other than because I _can_ now.

"I know, but sometimes you really just have to laugh about it. Or the pain and bitterness will eat you alive."

I sigh and weave our fingers together.

"You're so much better at this than I am."

"I don't know about that," Peeta says quietly, looking distant but pulling my closer, mindful of the IV in my arm.

"They didn't tell me," I say suddenly. "No one told me about District 13 and no one told me that you were alive. I'm so happy you're alive."

I start to breathe heavily again. Saying the words aloud, telling him how happy I am, is harder than it seems.

"I'm sorry," he says. "President Coin wouldn't let us broadcast our survival to the districts until a few days ago so there's no way that anyone knew before that. It was all very secretive."

Peeta doesn't look away during the whole explanation but his brow furrows slightly.

"What is this place?" I ask, trying to smooth away the wrinkles on his forehead.

"District 13, run by a woman named Coin. You can guess she's the one who has cultivated the rebellion."

I let my hand fall to his throat.

"I'm so confused by everything," I whisper. "And District 12…" I trail off, finally realizing how it must be destroyed.

Peeta begins to shake.

"I know. But please, not tonight. Believe me, I will tell you everything, I promise. We can talk about it tomorrow, I won't keep you in the dark. But I don't think your hospital bed is the best place. And I don't want to think about District 12 now," he finishes sadly.

Peeta runs his hand up and down my side, leaning in even closer and resting his chin on the top of my head. I'll let it to go for now. I'm tired and I'm too happy here with Peeta, only to become more confused by what he has to say about District 13. I honestly can't even think about 12.

"Can I kiss you?" Peeta asks after a few moments. "I kind of need to kiss you right now, I can't think about anything else."

I don't even respond, just tilt my face to him until I feel his lips on mine again. He kisses me slowly, running his tongue along the seam of my lips before I capture it with my own. I place my hand on his chest and feel his heart beat frantically underneath my fingers. I whine when he pulls away but he only laughs lightly, fidgeting on the bed to get more comfortable.

"Take your leg off," I tell him quietly.

Peeta doesn't say anything so I look up at him. He stares off to the opposite side of the room, swallowing thickly.

"You haven't taken it off, have you?" I ask, running my hand down his leg to where metal meets flesh. It takes a while for him to respond.

"It's…I don't feel safe, otherwise. I can't sleep. And without you…"

Peeta speaks in a quiet rush and I move my hand back up to his face, running my fingers underneath his eyes, knowing how much it calms him.

"Well I'm here to protect you, now. I'll make you feel safe."

_Because I love you. _

At this, Peeta starts to cry almost immediately and I can't tell if I said the right or the wrong thing. I must look horrified so Peeta smiles even though he continues crying, which is strange thing to see, because seeing him cry makes me heartsick.

"That's my job for you, though," he says after his tears start to come slower. He's being illogical, he must know that.

"We can both do it, you know. We can both protect each other," I affirm, kissing his nose. When I pull away Peeta grabs my face gently, holding my gaze.

"I guess it's what we do, right? We're friends."

I can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it, brought back to our days on the Victory Tour when I tried so hard to keep our relationship platonic. I failed with flying colors and the look in Peeta's eyes lets me know that he thinks the same. I play along anyway.

"Yes, good friends."


	22. Chapter 22

"For the love of God. Gag me."

My mind is still hazy from sleep and my first response to the jarring voice above me is to just move closer to Peeta's form, if it's even possible.

We're rather knotted together.

Peeta groans and tugs the flimsy covers over our heads before wrapping an arm over me again. I sink into him easily, breathing in time with the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"Seriously if this is what I'm going to have to put up with for as long as we're down here I'm volunteering for the next suicide mission."

The covers fly back and Peeta groans loudly, curling over me even more, his arm heavy around my waist.

"Not now, Johanna," he complains, voice gravelly and thick from lack of use.

"You know I'm not leaving," Johanna states.

I open my eyes to the length of Peeta's neck. He mumbles something and I see the contractions of his throat before he rolls over. I miss the warmth immediately but refrain from reaching out for him again, choosing instead to rub at my eyes with a closed fist before scooting up into a sitting position on the hospital bed.

I'm too tired to really do anything else or understand what's happening. Peeta and I both had a horrible nights sleep. I jolted awake every hour or so, terrified and not used to my surroundings.

Not used to the body wrapped around me.

I don't think Peeta slept at all because every time I woke, he was there running his fingers through my hair and whispering comforting words into my ear. We didn't speak much after last night, content to just rest with each other. I lay with my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he ran his fingers through my hair. My mind wouldn't shut off, even though being with him was supposed to make me at ease. I was still so confused about yesterday's happenings and I would find myself clutching his shirt with a strained grip before I realized what I was doing. I couldn't fall asleep because I didn't want to wake up with him gone. I've woken up from that nightmare too many times before.

Seeing me so troubled has clearly taken its toll on Peeta, who sports two very dark bags under his eyes.

"It's early, Jo," Peeta mumbles, running his hand over his face before swiping for me. He tries to pull me back on top of him but I stay sitting, blinking at Johanna Mason and trying to clear my mind, slowly becoming angry. I _remember_ this girl.

"It's not early, actually. It's 9:00 and you missed breakfast and physical therapy," Johanna points out, leaning back in the chair next to my bed and running her fingers through her dark, cropped hair. I narrow my eyes at her.

"And you must be Katniss Everdeen," Johanna smirks. "God, Blondie has such a fucking hard on for you. He never responded to any of my advances," she explains with an evil grin. "I'm Johanna, by the way."

I watch as she extends her arm and Peeta finally sits up to flick her shoulder. My scowl deepens but I meet her in the middle anyway. Peeta wraps an arm over my shoulder and plays with the end of my braid, which is barely a braid at this point as it's so loose.

"You know, my brother's over there," he says, nodding to the right. "We look alike. If you're still so hung up on me he'd make a pretty good replacement, I think," Peeta smiles sweetly and Johanna responds by rolling her eyes dramatically.

I stiffen at the suggestion that she even _tried_ to make moves on him but Peeta turns to me, grinning.

"Johanna likes to get a rise out of people," he explains, touching my cheek. He's been doing that a lot ever since we were reunited: touching me whenever he can. I guess I'd be doing the same but I haven't really let go of him at all.

"Yeah well I've been _trying_ to get a rise out of _you_ with no such luck," she sighs before smirking. "Yet."

Johanna's smile widens when she sees my jaw tighten with irrational jealousy. Peeta tugs on the end of my braid and when I glance up at him he kisses me on the mouth. He lingers there a moment, sweeping his lips slowly over mind, and I can't help but smile when Johanna scoffs.

_He's mine_.

"How's Finnick?" Peeta asks when he pulls away from me. Johanna's face darkens considerably and she looks down at her shoes.

"How do you think he is? Annie's still not here."

I watch as Peeta's Adam's apple bobs. He looks up to the ceiling, his easy expression from earlier having vanished completely.

"Have you heard anything from District 4?" he whispers before looking back at Johanna, who shakes her head.

"No. They're still tied pretty tightly to the Capitol… Careers, you know. But Finnick outed himself last night. Who knows if they could see that it was him through all the gunfire and smoke. My guess is no, but when do I know anything."

Peeta's arm tightens around me and my stomach drops at the understanding that Finnick risked so much to save me. Has this whole operation been blown because of last night?

"She has Mags, still. Right?" Peeta continues, looking at the end of the bed where our feet stick up through the covers. "At least she's not alone."

"Right," Johanna says, her voice surprisingly soft. I don't dare say anything,. I know my place and it's not in this conversation. I can barely look at either of them. I may not know much but from what I gathered during the Quarter Quell—from the way Finnick reacted to the jabberjays— there is a very special person in District 4 named Annie. He outed himself to save me. He outed himself for Peeta and he might pay dearly for it.

"Do you know when the briefing is?" Peeta asks after a distinct moment of silence.

"Not until tomorrow. They figured Ms. Happiness over here," Johanna gestures towards me, "would need a day to take everything in. That was Abernathy's doing, by the way, so you can thank him."

"Haymitch said that?" I ask, breaking my silence. I'm still furious with him. And Gale. And Madge, even, if I'm being honest. To think they've known that Peeta was alive, that District 13 existed, for as long as they did and they didn't tell me makes me feel as though I'm nothing more than a pawn for them. Just a piece for them to use as they please; as if my feelings mean nothing to them.

Johanna's eyes flick to mine.

"Yup. And apparently you're pissed about them not telling you anything," she muses, her large, dark eyes glinting under the harsh hospital lighting.

"I _am_ pissed," I bite back. Who is she to talk down to me? "That wasn't fair for them to leave me—" I begin to justify, but I'm cut off quickly.

"Alright, I honestly couldn't give two shits about your feelings. I just came over here to tell Peeta—and you, I guess—that the meeting's been pushed back."

Johanna moves to get up, swinging her legs over the edge of the chair, and knocks over Peeta's prosthetic. She freezes for a moment, studying the leg on the floor, before she looks back up at Peeta. He looks somewhat embarrassed under Johanna's sharp stare and I run my hand up his forearm without really thinking too much about it.

Johanna bends to pick the false limb off the floor, placing it carefully besides the hospital bed.

"I guess bringing you back here might have been worth the trouble after all," she says quietly before leaving.

* * *

After Johanna left, Peeta and I slipped back under the covers but despite my exhaustion I was unable to fall asleep again. The hospital nurses came to remove the IV in my arm and since then I've been playing with the ends of Peeta's hair (it's gotten too long). His eyes are closed and he's not even bothering to try and hide his smile. I've been too quiet though, and the air between us is too heavy, so when my hand finally falls to his neck he speaks.

"What are you thinking?" Peeta asks softly, opening his eyes to me. I'm wrapped up in him and I wonder if it's uncomfortable for him the way I'm laying on his arm. You wouldn't guess it from the way he's looking at me.

"That your hair is too long," I respond and he smiles widely.

"They're not good at cutting hair here. If I let them cut it, it'll just end up being buzzed off completely. Can't have that, can we?" he asks, eying my hand, which has gone to run through his waves again. I smile and meet his eyes, inching closer.

"No. What would I do with my hands?" I joke and Peeta shoots me a wolfish grin.

"I can think of a few things," he murmurs before leaning in to kiss me deeply, biting my bottom lip playfully before pulling away and planting another quick kiss on my nose. I move my hand to his cheek and smooth my thumb over the skin under his eyes. When he looks at me again, Peeta's expression is much more solemn.

"Really, Katniss," he says, bringing a hand around to smooth away the hair that's fallen into my face, "what are you thinking?"

I lower my eyes and fix my stare on his shirt collar. I didn't know I was being so transparent.

"A lot of things."

"I'm all ears, you know," Peeta responds, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together. It takes me a while to formulate my thoughts and I'm grateful that Peeta doesn't press.

"I just…I'm still in shock," I tell him and I take a very deep breath before continuing, though it does nothing to keep my voice from shaking. "You were dead. Everyone…no one questioned it. I was…I can't explain it."

I mean to ask him about Finnick as well but I can't really speak anymore without my voice cracking pitifully so I close my eyes. I've done too much crying and I should be very happy now. But seeing Peeta here still reminds me of why I was so destroyed when I thought he was gone. I lower my head, knowing that if I look up into the blue eyes shining back at me I will be hit with too many emotions to control.

Peeta tightens his arm around my waist.

"I'm so sorry," he sighs. He really has no idea how bad it was but I'm so glad that he's in the dark when it comes to that. If he knew what had become of me I'd never be able to look at him again. I was a disgrace. I guess I still am.

"It's not your fault," I affirm, finally opening my eyes and meeting him with a steely gaze.

"That doesn't mean I'm not sorry," he counters. "And I couldn't even help you sleep could I?" he adds to himself bitterly. I shake my head at him and the words that come out of my mouth are the exact opposite ones I would have liked to use.

"I couldn't sleep because I was scared you'd be gone when I woke up," I whisper softly.

_Shit. _

How can I explain to him that I wasn't used to feeling safe? And now that I do, I feel I shouldn't trust it? I'm so used to everything I know being ripped away from me. I can't contain my frown so I avert my eyes from Peeta's, feeling ashamed.

"I'm not going anywhere anymore," he says resolutely, tilting my chin up and forcing me to face him. "I promise."

I make myself nod before I shove my face in the space between his shoulder and his cheek. The stubble on his chin tickles my ear.

"Who's Annie, Peeta?" I ask into his neck, unable to rid the question from my mind.

Peeta is absolutely still for a very long time. He's silent for so long that I think he might not answer me but eventually I feel him swallow a few times before he opens his mouth.

"She lives in District 4 and she's…she's not right in the head. Finnick mentored her in the arena and she lost her mind," he explains. The last part he says with difficulty. "Finnick loves her and they're engaged."

Guilt creeps up and over me as I take in his words.

"I blew his cover."

"No, not you. He knew I would have lost it if…if something happened. And he feels as though he owes me because of what happened in the arena. That's why he decided to go and rescue you. They didn't want me going because I was 'emotionally compromised' and I'm still not cleared for any heavy physical activity. Plus if you didn't come back…I just…" Peeta's voice trails off into nothing and I press my nose against his throat, which I can feel constrict with the effort to contain himself.

"I think he knew what would have happened to me. Everyone knows how much I love you but I think Finnick is the only one who can understand it."

_Because he's tied to someone from the Games, too_, I think.

"He puts on a front and pretends like everything's OK. He's been doing it for most of his life. He's had it really bad. But I know that seeing you and me together was probably especially hard for him. I don't know what to do because we can't give ourselves away. We can't go get Annie from District 4 because the Capitol still thinks they have their support."

I pull back and notice that Peeta's eyes are glassy. He smiles at me anyway.

"I was very mean to Finnick when he rescued me. I think I might have hit him," I mutter, appalled by my own behavior, but Peeta's smile grows wider and he laughs softly. "And then I didn't believe him when he told me you were alive. I should apologize."

"I warned him that you were a tough cookie. But maybe apologizing would be a noble thing to do," Peeta chuckles. I sigh and nod. Apologizing is not an easy thing for me to do. Pride is a dangerous characteristic in the Seam.

"Will you explain everything to me? This District? And the rebellion?" I ask, unable to be left in the dark any longer. I need to know what's going on, I'm too confused. I need to know _something_ of what's happening; I feel too exposed otherwise.

Peeta nods and adjusts himself on the bed.

"President Coin will probably be better at answering your questions tomorrow but I'll tell you what I know. The rebellion's been in planning stages for years and District 13 has been in communication with Capitol rebels for the same amount of time. They couldn't involve any of the districts until a few months ago because there was no real unification or way of avoiding being overheard. Apparently those higher ups in the Capitol were able to talk to the Mayors of some of the Districts once they proved they were trustworthy and that the districts were riled up enough. This happened after our Games. Districts 8, 11, 12 were the first."

My brow furrows and I try to comprehend the existence of rebels in the Capitol before the existence of rebels in any of the districts. I think of Madge and Gale and how they both seemed to know about the rebellion before anyone else. It makes sense, I guess, seeing as Madge is the Mayor's daughter.

"Anyway, Plutarch Heavensbee, the Gamemaker, was able to rescue us during the Quarter Quell—he's a rebel—and District 13 has been slowly infiltrating its way into each of the other Districts. We have some very talented technicians here that are able to take over broadcasting systems and stuff. I don't really understand it, though Beetee's tried to explain it to me."

I let out a breath. So the Head Gamemaker was a rebel, explaining why Peeta and the others are still alive. And District 13 has been using advanced technology to get in touch with the other districts? I'm still trailing behind when Peeta speaks again.

"The Capitol must know now that 13 exists now because of what happened yesterday. I don't know if Snow can weed out the spies or not. Enobaria is a spy, by the way. A damn good one, probably because no one expects it out of her. It was planned for her to win the Quell. Everything was planned from the start, I just found out during training."

My eyes move from Peeta's to his mangled shoulder. To his hip. _Planned_. Was that planned? I grimace. Was it planned that he almost die? If Peeta can sense my question he doesn't let on.

"The Capitol is probably cracking down on 8 and 11 as we speak and I know that 13 is prepared to send in reinforcements to gain control of those districts. Everyone here is basically trained for warfare once they reach 18 and they've been ready to deploy for something like this for months. Tomorrow President Coin will brief us on how we're going to move forward."

Peeta allows me to catch up, running his thumb along my knuckles.

"I know this is a lot to take in," he whispers. "Everything about this…13 and the rebellion…it's all so much and…and I'll be here to help you through it. I promise," he finishes. Although some of my questions were answered, a hundred other ones popped up in its place. Peeta's brow is furrowed in concern as he looks down at me and I try to smooth it out. I don't like seeing him worried.

"I'm just happy I have you back. I need to put you somewhere you can't get hurt now."

Peeta laughs lightly but I'm equal parts joking and completely serious.

"You're brother saved my sister," I tell him. "As we were leaving 12 he stepped in front of a bullet for her, I…I forgot to thank him," I say, already disgusted with myself. I can see Rye across the room, passed out on a hospital bed similar to the one I'm in. He's in worse shape than I am and it doesn't look like he'll be leaving any time soon.

Peeta doesn't look surprised or even overly concerned by what I tell him.

"Oh, us Mellark men. When will we ever learn," he smiles wryly. His comment was obviously supposed to make me smile but instead reminds me of the horror I left in District 12. Slowly, I'm filled with a biting panic.

"Peeta, I don't know what happened to your family. Your brother was with me when the bombs hit…but your other brother. And your parents."

The more I speak the more distressed I become. It's the first time I've really let myself think about what happened to District 12. I don't know the extent of the damage but I know it must be bad if the Capitol was involved. I think about the Seam and Town, of all the people I knew. Prim said that Madge and the Hawthornes are safe, but what about everybody else?

_Did I do this?_

Peeta is quiet for a few moments, avoiding my eyes.

_His family was there. _

"I'm sorry, if I had known I would have—"

"It's _not_ your fault," he interrupts me, meeting my eyes again. His eyes are hard and determined but not unkind. I can't say anything in response and my mouth quivers. I have no idea what to say to him. His family could be dead.

"It was only a matter of time before the Capitol sent the bombs in," Peeta continues quietly. "District 12 was number 1 on their list, after all. Please don't think that's your fault. And District 13 sent in a rescue team. They might come back."

Peeta closes his eyes and my hand hovers uselessly between us. I want to comfort him, do anything to make this better, but I've never been good at things like that.

"Rye's here," he adds, eyes downcast. "And I have you. You're here now."

He speaks as if he's unsure of himself so I move to rest my forehead against his. If there's anything I can guarantee him during this whole mess, it's that he will always have me. Always.

So I tell him.

"You have me. Always."

* * *

District 13 is a strange place. After the hospital released me, Peeta showed me around the underground community, explaining the way of life he's grown used to and the one I'm immensely confused by. The District is more or less an enormous underground, self-sustaining bunker. Each family has their own barracks, a small apartment of sorts, that's furnished modestly and bathed in the same dreary shade of grey that covers the entire underground trench. It's an obvious downgrade from what we had in the Victor's Village but compared to my home in the Seam it's still a luxury. We walked deeper into the District, through a complicated maze of hallways that look exactly the same, and Peeta showed me where I will be staying with mother and Prim. Sheepishly, he explained that they won't let minors live together, prompted by the look of dismay on my face when I realized he wasn't part of my living situation. Sometimes I forget how strange of an arrangement Peeta and I have: two seventeen year olds who cannot spend the night away from the other. It's sad, really.

But then again, why should District 13 care about our personal needs when they have so many to attend too? I've grown selfish fast. I've grown accustomed to luxury fast as well and it makes me sick to my stomach.

He promised that he lives just down the hall, though. Peeta smiled at that, knowing there's no way we were capable of listening to that rule.

Mother and Prim were happy to see me, although both looked slightly frazzled, likely due to everything that's transpired in the past day. I feel frazzled as well.

Our apartment consists of a small living room, bathroom and bedroom, to be shared by the three of us. Peeta explained the strange machine on the wall as well. He showed me how you stick your arm inside and it displays a regimented schedule in the form of a strange, nonpermanent tattoo on your skin.

District 13 keeps track of its inhabitants.

It's something District 12 only did on Reaping Day and I can't hide my bewilderment when Peeta tells me how everyone is fed three times a day. No matter what. My thought process only goes to show how horribly skewed a life we were living before. The look in Peeta's eyes when he explains this shows me that he thinks the exact same thing.

I shower before dinner, mindful of the bandage on my head. My cut isn't bad but it still hurts and I have a pounding headache. My arm aches from where the hospital nurses stuck me with a series of vaccinations ranging from vitamins, to antibodies, to birth control. Despite it's seemingly endless expanse, District 13 doesn't have room for unplanned babies.

I stare at the wall of the shower, trying to absorb all of the new information that has been thrown my way, gradually becoming more and more nervous for my meeting with President Coin tomorrow morning. I don't know what this woman is like, or what she expects of me. I don't know what to think about anything, yet.

I rummage through the drawer in the bedroom and find a variety of grey shirts and pants, the same ones everyone here wears. I fold my clothes from District 12, placing them carefully in the drawer, but not before I remove the sea glass from the pocket of my old pants and slip it into the pocket of the new grey ones. My inability to part with it is obsessive at this point, even though I know Peeta is with Prim, waiting for me in the next room.

Peeta rises from the couch when I walk into the living room and I move straight into his arms, pressing my face against his chest and breathing him in. Under all the grey he stills smells like himself, even if the scent of vanilla and sugar is farther away.

"You were in there for a while. I thought you might have drowned," Peeta jokes quietly, touching my pruned fingers before wrapping his arms around me like a cage. We stay like this for a while until I remember Prim is in the room. I pull away from him and he lets his arms drag over mine before locking our hands together.

"Dinner?" he smiles at me. The left corner of his lip tugs up and I feel myself blush, something I haven't done in months. It doesn't go unnoticed by Peeta, who pauses to stare at me. My lips part the tiniest bit and I want to look away—at Prim, or the grey walls—but I am completely unable to wrestle my eyes from his. Peeta exhales and I feel it hit my cheek like a whisper.

"Katniss?" Prim calls, and I tear my eyes from Peeta's, trying to ignore the way my heart is beating 10 times faster than it was a minute ago.

* * *

Peeta walks ahead of Prim and me on the cafeteria line, talking animatedly about the ways in which District 13 grows its food. They do everything underground—even food production—and I add this new development to the list of things that completely baffle me about this place. How they've been able to keep themselves running for so long is something I can't comprehend. I've been underground for less than 24 hours and I'm already feeling claustrophobic.

After we collect our food, Prim and I follow Peeta as he leads us to a table in the corner where Finnick and Johanna are already seated. I groan internally, not ready to face the likes of Johanna Mason again.

"Ahh, I see we have some new additions to our party," Finnick says as we reach the table. "Hey Peet. Girl on Fire," Finnick says between bites of bread. "And hello beautiful," he adds, looking to Prim with a dazzling smile. I almost want to roll my eyes at the way her cheeks stain a dark red at Finnick's words. "Have you met Johanna? Remember I told you about her on the hovercraft?"

Peeta sits down, motioning for me to take the seat next to him, and Prim eagerly takes the seat next to Finnick.

"It's nice to meet you," Prim says to Johanna smiling widely. "I'm Prim, Katniss' sister," Johanna looks between the two of us, puzzled.

"Are you sure you're related?" she asks in derision.

Prim giggles and starts to eat her food but I glower at Johanna, who just raises her eyebrows at me.

"Well your sister doesn't walk around with a scowl the whole time. You should try it. You know, make it look like you _don't_ have a massive pole up your ass."

Finnick frowns and pokes Johanna in the ear at the same time Peeta's expression turns stormy. I'm taken aback by it, actually. I've grown accustomed to the verbal jabs people throw my way but I've never seen Peeta get visibly upset over one. His jaw sets firmly and he glares fiercely at Johanna before putting his hand on the inside of my knee.

I'm actually terrified by how little I care about what Johanna said and by how much I would rather trace the line of Peeta's jaw with my tongue.

Right now is _not_ the time for this to be happening. Luckily I'm torn from my own thoughts by Prim's voice.

"Katniss is the best sister in the world, and I'd appreciate if you didn't talk to her that way," she says calmly. Everyone at the table, myself included, is taken aback. Prim meets my eyes and I blink at her stupidly. "Her trust is hard won but once you have it she'll do anything for you. Right, Peeta?"

"Prim…" I start, not wanting to get into this with Finnick and especially not Johanna.

"Right," Peeta says immediately, tightening his grip on my leg. I flick my eyes to him and the shy smile he gives me makes my chest cramp.

There's an awkward moment of silence before Peeta asks Johanna a question about physical therapy and they're off chatting like nothing transpired at all. I eat my food quietly, glancing around the cafeteria and only partially paying attention to the conversation at the table.

I can't pretend that I don't notice everyone in the cafeteria is looking at us.

I turn my eyes back down to my food, pushing it around my plate. We'll never escape it, will we? Peeta is probably used to it at this point. You can't survive two Hunger Games and not gain a following.

And now I'm here.

There's no way we'll be able to fly under the radar. I want to laugh. All I've ever wanted was to go unnoticed and live my life without chaos.

Fate had different plans.

Peeta rubs my knee and I try to fix my face before I look up at him again.

"Hey," he says with a smile.

"Hey," I echo, grimacing. I see Peeta's smile falter and I place my hand over his on my knee, squeezing it.

"I owe you an apology," I say, turning to Finnick. I would rather not do this in front of Johanna but it doesn't look like she's leaving any time soon.

"Oh?" Finnick asks, raising his eyebrows at me. To his credit he looks genuinely surprised.

"For the way I acted in 12. And the hovercraft. Thank you… for coming to rescue me," I finish lamely, turning my face in the opposite direction as my cheeks heat up. Finnick doesn't bat an eye.

"You are very welcome. I think I'd take payment in the form of your dessert," he states before reaching across the table and grabbing the small cookie off of my tray. Peeta pats my leg and I turn my attention back to my food.

"Oh, Rory is here!" Prim exclaims and I turn to follow her line of vision. Sure enough, Rory, along with the other Hawthorns and Madge are all gathered by the entrance to the cafeteria. My scowl returns when Gale finds me through the crowd and I hastily shovel the rest of my food into my mouth before getting up from the table.

I weave my way through the crowd, trying to give the Hawthornes a large berth, but it's no use. Gale grabs my arm just as I'm about to pass him.

"Don't touch me," I spit at him. Gale doesn't let go until I see that Peeta has caught up to me and is now beside me. I don't look at either of them, focusing my stare on the exit behind Gale.

"I know what you're thinking," Gale starts and I shoot him an incredulous glare.

"Don't give me that look," he states.

"I don't want to talk to you," I say, my tone venomous. My blood boils beneath my skin and I clench my fists tightly at my sides. Peeta is wise not to touch me right now.

"Why? Because I knew about 13 and didn't tell you? Because I found out he was alive _days_ ago and didn't tell you? _Days_, Katniss," Gale explains, leaving little room for argument. It doesn't matter if he found out hours ago, he still didn't tell me. He lied to me.

Madge steps into view, looking worse for wear. Her face is covered in scratches and she looks extremely guilty, which is more than I can say for the man standing in front of me.

"Katniss it's my fault," she says and I turn to her, still scowling. She's never been on the receiving end of one of my looks, I realize, and I see her shrink away from it. "I found out before Gale did. I'm so sorry," she babbles. "I just barged into your house, grabbed Gale and made him leave so I could tell him. I didn't know what to do—"

"What are you talking about?" I ask darkly. Barged into my house? Grabbed Gale? Made him leave? Madge blushes and speaks so quickly her words muddle together.

"That night…I had to get Gale out of your house because of all the sensors. I needed to do it in a way that wouldn't draw suspicious attention from the Capitol so I kissed him. I felt so bad for not telling you about Peeta, please, even after I wanted to tell you–"

The anger from my face melts into confusion as I register what Madge is saying.

"You're not…together?" I ask stupidly. It's the least important part of this discussion, obviously, but my stupid mouth works before I can stop it. I had assumed at this point that Gale and Madge were a thing.

"No," they both say in unison, as if the mere thought of it is enough to make them vomit. Peeta shifts on his feet beside me and I shake my head a little, trying to clear my mind.

"You kissed Gale to make him leave. And to make sure I didn't follow you," I reiterate, finally understanding. Madge nods miserably.

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you. You were so sad and…and…" she struggles, getting worked up.

"And if the Capitol saw a change in you, they'd come knocking," Gale finishes for her.

I stand still, feeling the blood rush to my face. They're right. _Of course_, they're right. But I'm still so hurt that they kept this from me, that they didn't trust me enough to pull it together if I found out. And Peeta…

I chance a glance at him to see he's been watching me, eyebrows creased and lined in worry.

"I see you've explained our actions to her. I can see the realization kicking in."

I turn sharply at the sound of Haymitch's voice, a thousand thoughts running through my head. I want to slap that stupid grin off his face. Out of everyone—_everyone_ in District 12—for some reason it was him I never expected to lie to my face, considering he looked equally as upset when the Quell ended.

"You're my mentor," I sputter. "You didn't tell me anything. I came to you and you just sat and…and drank," I babble at Haymitch, before turning to Gale. "And I asked to be a part of things, Gale. Remember?"

"Katniss," Peeta says softly, touching my arm but I yank away from him. I'm already worked up. I'm already hurt and embarrassed beyond belief.

"No! I wanted to fight, I would have been useful, I—"

"It's not as though you were stable, sweetheart," Haymitch whispers harshly, attempting to avoid a scene. "For God's sake, you barely spoke to anyone for months and then three Capitol reporters walk across the kid's lawn and you pull out your bow and arrow and start shooting at them."

"What?" Peeta asks quietly, confusion tainting the word. This is obviously the first he's heard of this and Haymitch shoots him a look. My mouth hangs open as I try to find a way to explain myself. I can't, I realize. Gradually, I feel the blood drain from my limbs.

_Just stop, don't say anymore. Please. _

"You heard me. The girl completely lost it after the Quell. Had a full-blown mental breakdown—honestly, I'd never seen anything like it. And then yesterday she went momentarily insane on some Capitolites, nearly killed them, therefore causing this damn rescue mission in the first place."

I bow my head, humiliated. I can't look at Haymitch. I can't look at Madge or Gale and I definitely cannot look a Peeta.

"And she's angry because we didn't treat her like an adult," Haymitch spits. I close my eyes, tears of shame burning behind my lids. "You need to gain some perspective. You know that if there was any hope of the boy being alive your behavior would have changed and Snow would have taken notice."

I remember the letter I made Haymitch open a week or so ago. How Snow believed my grief so whole-heartedly that he didn't even feel the need to come to District 12 to rub Peeta's death in my face. Haymitch takes a step towards me and I shrink away from him.

"Everything we've been working towards for years would have been ruined. Now I'm sorry that it happened the way it did, really. But I do not regret my decision. We're at war now. Expect some things to change."

* * *

"Will you please look at me?"

I flinch at the sound of Peeta's voice despite the fact that it's no more than a whisper, laced only with concern. I stare at the carpeted floor of Peeta's barracks. I haven't spoken a word since we left Haymitch in the cafeteria. Worse, I've been completely unable to look at Peeta, even as he led me back to his room.

How can I? Especially after Haymitch so wonderfully described how appallingly I acted once the Quell ended. Hell, I didn't even wait for the Quell to end, I fell apart the moment Peeta wasn't a part of it anymore. I don't want to see the pity looking back at me when I meet Peeta's gaze. I don't want to see the disappointment.

"You must think I'm crazy," I croak, hugging myself around the middle. Peeta takes a step towards me and I move backwards until my back meets the wall. Peeta pauses, thinking, and then doesn't make any further movement.

I'm disgusted with myself.

"I don't."

He says the words so angrily that my head lifts out of shock. There's a fire behind his eyes and steps towards me again.

"I am. I'm crazy," I counter. He should know this; he's the one who has to deal with me now. Maybe I am too broken to be repaired. Maybe the Capitol cut my wings a long time ago—made me insane without me knowing—and there's nothing I can do about it anymore.

"No, Katniss," Peeta says again, less angry but still as firm as ever.

"I don't know what to say for myself," I begin to explain, the words spilling from my mouth before I can stop them. "I thought you were dead and I turned into my mother. And my promise to you—every time I tried to do something I panicked and then ended up on the closet floor. I—"

"Be quiet," Peeta says, voice low, but I shake my head.

"I failed you, I—"

"I said," Peeta whispers, his mouth barely and inch from my own, "be quiet."

His lips are on mine before I can even think of a response. Peeta kisses me slowly, resting his hands on my cheeks. Any thought I might have had before now—of the Quell, my behavior after it—dissolves like steam as months of longing hit me with a force so powerful I have to clutch Peeta's shoulders to keep from falling over. Peeta's hand moves to knot itself in my braid and I suck his lower lip between my own, all of a sudden extremely greedy for him.

He whimpers gently and presses me against the wall, pinning me there with his hips.

_Oh, I've missed this._

I rake my fingers up his neck and feel him shiver against me before he pulls away, breathless.

"We're a mess for each other, aren't we?" he asks, gasping, before his mouth descends upon mine once again, this time much more aggressively. My response is a sigh against him. I am _such_ a mess for him. I guess that's what happens when you survive the Games, though. Things get messy. As always, Peeta and his golden tongue have simplified everything with a simple statement.

Peeta moves a hand down my neck, my side, barely grazing my breast, and comes to rest on the small of my back. I pull him closer, trailing one hand down his chest as the other weaves through his too-long hair. He pushes me against the wall harder, pressing his hips against mine, and I run my tongue along the swell of his bottom lip.

Peeta groans faintly and then he slips his tongue against mine, coaxing it into his own mouth. My heart hammers against my ribs and I kiss him wildly, until I can't breathe anymore. But when I pull away, searching for air, Peeta surges forward, placing hot, wet kisses down my jaw and along my throat.

"Don't ever say you're crazy," he says between kisses. "You're perfect and I love you."

I find myself nodding against his ministrations, agreeing with his words. How could I not agree with him when he speaks like this? When he does the things he's doing? I pull away the collar of his shirt and start to press light, careful kisses along the marred skin of his shoulder. Peeta pauses, his breathe hitting the wet skin of my throat and making me break out into goose bumps.

I pull away from him. His hair is out of control and his eyes are black—the pupils so wide I can barely see the thin, blue iris. He looks absolutely feral.

I think, once again, we might match.

In one motion, Peeta lifts me off the ground, hitching my legs over his hips, and stumbles toward his bedroom. In the back of my mind I wonder how the hell he's doing this with all the injuries he's accumulated, but I can't really think of anything other than how his erection feels pressed against the seam of my pants.

When he throws us down on his bed, and falls on top of me, I go straight for his shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it to the side in one motion. Peeta halts and I see an uncharacteristic cloud of doubt cover his features. His eyes leave mine and move towards his scarred shoulder. My heart sinks for him.

"You're perfect and I love you," I whisper, pulling him behind the neck and towards me so I can run my lips along the puckered flesh. Peeta's breath hitches and his hands move slowly down my stomach before reaching the edge of my shirt. I break away from him so he can take it off.

My shirt flies behind us, probably landing in the same place as Peeta's, and I sit up on the bed, reaching for the clasp of my bra. By the time Peeta has turned around, I'm exposed. His eyes rack down my body and he doesn't even meet my eyes again before he lowers his face to my neck, sucking the skin between his teeth. His hands move up my stomach and to my breasts, caressing them so softly is as if they're barely there at all.

He laughs against my skin when I whine in protest, finally cupping them fully.

"I missed you," I hiss as he rolls a nipple between his thumb and index finger. I lift my hips against his, rolling them against the strained bulge in his pants. Peeta huffs and I gasp when he pinches me.

"The feeling is mutual, believe me," he murmurs, trailing kisses over my chest before capturing one of my nipples in his mouth. I exhale roughly and my fingers weave their way through Peeta's golden hair again, gently urging him on. When his teeth graze my peak, my hips buck off the bed and straight into his.

These are the things I wouldn't allow myself to think of when I thought he was gone. These types of memories are the ones that would send me straight into the closet and paralyze me.

Peeta lets his body sink fully on top of mine, trapping me under the weight of him.

"Thank you for the bread, Peeta," I breathe and he lifts his mouth, glancing up at me. I never did thank him. I told him, that day in the attic, but I never thanked him and it's haunted me every second of every day since I was 11. Why it took me so long to voice is beyond me. "All those years ago—I never thanked you. Even in the attic I never thanked you."

Peeta lies heavily on top of my, chest heaving, and he shakes his head, frowning.

"I should have gone out in the rain," he murmurs. One of his arms trembles as he leans forward. "I should have—"

I cut him off with my mouth, kissing him as deeply as I possible can. He runs his hand over my chest, his thumb catching on my nipple and I gasp again.

"No, you saved me," I whisper when I pull away.

"I'd do anything for you," he answers immediately. For a moment we just stare at each other. Peeta removes his hand from my chest and cups my cheek, slowly leaning in to kiss me once again. I melt into it.

When Peeta moves to the waistband of my pants I almost sigh in relief. The ache between my thighs, familiar and missed dearly, has me grinding against him so hard he's been whimpering uncontrollably into my mouth for some time.

I lift my hips off the bed as he removes my pants and my underwear quickly after that. I almost smile, the feeling of being completely naked with him a sensation I can't quite describe. Peeta places a long kiss on my knee from where he kneels below me, and then a soft one on my thigh. I look down to see him appraising me silently. I gesture for him to come up to me but Peeta doesn't move, choosing instead to run his tongue along the inside of my thigh.

"Peeta…" I question, trying to clamp my thighs shut, not comfortable with being exposed to him like this, but he opens them further, running a thick finger between my folds. My eyes roll back in my head and I exhale noisily.

"Can I try something please?" he whispers hoarsely, idly running his fingers between my legs. My eyes shut close and I nod, eager for him to just continue what he's doing. He spreads me with his fingers and when I feel his hot breath on my skin I stiffen.

"What are you—ohh..."

I moan so loudly I wouldn't be surprised if they heard me three stories above and below this room. Peeta licks his way slowly along the crease between my legs, before tonguing the bundle of nerves at the apex between my thighs.

My body heats quickly and my hands clench in the sheets at my sides. I grit my teeth when he swirls his tongue around and around, making my muscles coil so tightly inside me I have no idea if what I'm experiencing hurts or feels incredible. I lean towards the latter.

I moan again and Peeta wraps his lips around me, sucking hard. I release my hands from the sheets and clutch his hair, pulling his mouth closer to me. The stubble on his jaw and chin tickles my thighs and I feel it, the tingling in the legs. My mouth falls slack. Peeta shoves a finger inside me as I come. I'm rendered completely silent as my shoulders arch off the bed and I spasm uncontrollably around his finger.

As I come down, Peeta runs his tongue one last time between my legs before placing a short kiss on the inside of my thigh. When I open my eyes, he's grinning up at me, eyes alight.

"I'm guessing you liked it?" Peeta questions, sidling up my side and placing another kiss on the side of my sweaty neck. I nod and laugh, out of breath.

"Where did you learn that?" I ask incredulously, turning over and forcing him onto his back.

"My brothers talk a very detailed game," he explains with a wry smile. My arms and legs feel like jello but I move down his body anyway, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them—along with his boxers—down his legs. His erection springs forward and I work to unfasten his prosthetic as fast as I can.

Peeta leans up on his elbows, watching me, smile gone and replaced with a much more satisfying expression: want. When his leg is on the floor I crawl back up to him and grasp his protruding flesh in my hand. Peeta hisses and I wonder how I can make him feel as incredible as he just did for me.

I run my palm along the underside of him, thinking. I don't have any experience with that sort of stuff and no older sisters to explain to me what I'm supposed to do. It doesn't matter, though. Peeta was dead and now he's not and I want to hear the sounds he only makes for me.

I run my tongue over his tip, looking up at him through my lashes.

"Fuck," Peeta mutters, the profanity sending an electric jolt straight through my body. I tighten my grip on his length and wrap my lips around his head, suckling lightly. He twitches in my hands and Peeta releases a series of very heavy breathes.

"Katniss," he hisses and I hum around him, trying to suppress my smile. I feel him grasp at my shoulder though, so I release him from my mouth with a gentle 'pop' and look at him, all of a sudden very worried I did the wrong thing.

"I won't last, Katniss," he breathes, pulling me towards his face. When our noses touch he speaks again.

"It's too good…I just...need to be inside you," he says in a rush before his cheeks color.

I nod and bring my mouth down to his. I can taste me on him, a strange bitterness, but it doesn't turn me off, it only spurs me on. Peeta runs his tongue along mine, cupping my ass in one hand in fingering my breast with the other. I moan quietly and pull away, pushing on his chest. My legs rest on either side of his stomach and I stare down at him before I run my fingers down his biceps. His eyes shut as he groans, lifting his naked hips off the bed involuntarily.

I slither down further and when I come to the deep scar at his hip, I pause to place an open-mouthed kiss all along the mark. I hover between his legs and Peeta take's himself in his hand, lining himself up with my entrance. When I finally sink down on top of him I hear his grunt resonate off of the walls. His hands move to my hips, steadying me.

I place my palms on his chest and watch him as I rock forward. Peeta throws his head back into the pillow and I rock forward again, feeling him sink deeper into me. I groan quietly and close my eyes, grinding and thrusting myself down onto him, relishing in the pressure I feel building inside me.

"Open your eyes," Peeta says, strained. I comply and see him push up onto his elbows again, his body shaking with the effort. He throws an arm behind my back and scoots us both farther up the bed so he's in a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. He kisses me on the mouth and rocks forward, continuing where we left off. I knot my fingers in his hair and my face slides against his sweaty cheek.

"Ahh—look at me," he almost growls and my eyes shoot to his, which can't be more than a few centimeters from my own. "The last time we did this," he pants, moving his hips up forcefully to meet mine, "I thought I was gonna die."

After hearing him say it, I think I might cry. He can never, _ever_, think that again. I grasp his face in my hands and kiss him forcefully. We falter in our movements as I almost lose my balance over him but he holds my hips steady once more. I don't remove my hands from his face and he holds me with his stare. His thrusts become erratic, making me bounce on top of him as I release tiny, keening noises. It feels _too good_.

When he comes his eyes have never left mine.

Peeta's muscles strain beneath me and I run my fingertips over the sweaty skin, soothingly, before he slumps against the pillows, pulling me on top of him.

Our breathing is heavy and I feel his heartbeat thrum against the skin of his chest. Exhausted, I slide off of him and nuzzle my face into his neck, flicking my tongue against his hot skin to catch a droplet of sweat. Peeta pulls the covers over us and then throws an arm around me, pulling me flush against his side.

"I really just wanted you to know you aren't crazy," he says with a laugh. "Things escalated quickly."

I smile, resting my head on his good shoulder and wrapping my arms lazily around his middle.

"Yeah well I wasn't necessarily complaining," I respond weakly, closing my eyes. I feel his chest vibrate as he chuckles again. I fall quickly into the twilight space between wakefulness and sleep so when Peeta speaks again it's like a faint whisper.

"Katniss?"

I hum back something incoherent.

"Tomorrow, I don't know what President Coin is going to say, or what she'll ask, if anything," he says quietly, running his arm along my back. "But…"

He breathes heavily before speaking again.

"I can't be torn away from you again, OK?"

I open my eyes and tilt my head off of his shoulder to look at him properly. My features pinch together as I try to figure out why he's so worried all of a sudden. I don't know what this Coin woman has in mind for us but if she thinks she's separating us again she has another thing coming.

"We need to stick together," Peeta continues, and it's as if he's read my mind. "As long as we're together, we'll be fine."

I rest my chin on his chest and look up into the blue pools that stare down at me. Peeta and I will always survive if we're together, that much is known. Everyone knows it, actually. That's why they tried to rip us apart in our Hunger Games. It's why they tried to rip us apart for the Quell.

Because when we are together, we are a force to be reckoned with.

"We always cause the most trouble when we're together, don't we?"

The smile he gives me in return says more than I would ever be able to.


	23. Chapter 23

**Peeta**

Alma Coin is always exactly 7 minutes late to strategy meetings. Finn, Jo and I found this out slowly, during our first few weeks after arriving in District 13. Jo says it's because Coin is an 'evil bitch woman' who 'likes to torture' the people she 'wants things from'. I didn't agree with her at first, but I think I can see where Jo is coming from now. Especially because it's pretty obvious that her delayed entry is making Katniss upset.

I take her hand under the table and pull it into my lap. Katniss glances quickly over at me and I give her a tight smile. I want to pull her out of the room and go hide in bed with her all day. I want to crawl under the sheets, close my eyes, press my nose into her hair and pretend that I'm back in District 12.

I want a lot of impossible things.

Haymitch is idly tapping his fingers on the table across from us, staring pointedly at Katniss, who is doing her best to ignore him completely. I don't know what happened while I was gone but from the way Haymitch and Gale spoke to Katniss last night, and the way she responded, it was not good.

"_The girl completely lost it after the Quell. Had a full-blown mental breakdown—honestly, I'd never seen anything like it."_

Bile rises quickly in my throat and I do my best to swallow it back. I knew she would be upset if I didn't make it back but the way they were describing the situation makes it seem as though she _couldn't_ get better.

Involuntarily, my hand squeezes hers under the table.

"_I thought you were dead and I turned into my mother."_

My head starts pounding and I feel beads of sweat start to form at my temple.

_Not now. Not now. Not now. _

It's almost comical how quickly Johanna turns her head in my direction the moment my anxiety starts to build. I guess we're linked together in that regard. The 'attacks' are a result of the poisonous cat scratches we were both exposed to in the arena. The doctors in 13 told us the venom was a derivative of the poison found in tracker jackers: it's the only explanation for our 'irregular anxiety condition'.

Jo hates that phrase.

"_Why the fuck don't the just call them 'Scary as Fuck Panic Attacks'?"_ she muttered once after our early morning therapy. I agreed with her on that one. I haven't had many of the attacks, less than five in total, but each time has been overwhelmingly terrifying. My first bought with my 'irregular anxiety condition' was when I woke up in 13 after a three-week long coma. I had a minor heart attack during that one.

I lived.

The second one was a month later, when Coin suggested we start weapon training once our physical therapy was complete. The third was when I found out President Snow had plans to bomb District 12 and the fourth was right after Finnick left on the rescue mission 2 days ago.

Needless to say, stress is unhealthy for me.

Johanna digs her nails into my arm, attempting to bring me back to the present. I haven't had enough exposure to the attacks to know what sets them off yet. For me, they usually have something to do with Katniss. But sometimes I'll hear a plate drop in the cafeteria or the lights will flicker in my room, and I'll be shuttled back to the arena. I'll feel the apprehension start to build and my palms will start to sweat. It's hit or miss, really. At least both of us know the warning signs: building panic and muscle stiffness followed by tremors, sweating and dilating of the eyes. I'll have a shooting pain in my shoulder from where the injury stemmed and after that, I'm thrown into horrifying blackness only to wake up with no recollection of what happened.

But it's diluted now, and I can think properly, so luckily I will not have an attack. I shoot Jo a curt nod and she releases her grip on my arm. Katniss, who has been oblivious to the whole thing, shifts to my right.

I run my thumb over her knuckles and exhale slowly, trying to ignore the ever-present throbbing pain at my hip. Just being around her has calmed me considerably, even if I won't ever be the same person that entered the Quell. I'm different now.

But I stand true to what I told her two days ago when I saw her for the first time: there are no words for what it's like to be together again. Of course I knew she was alive the whole time: the daily reassurances from Coin's team provided me that. She had no idea, though. I thought they would have at least told her District 13 existed but they kept it from her as well. My mind spins as I try to put myself in her shoes. If Katniss went into the Games a second time and she died in front of me…

"_You must think I'm crazy."_

I fight back the prickling anxiety I feel and chance a glance at her again. Her face is blank and she's not looking in my direction. I'm not convinced of her hard exterior this time, though. I remember the way she clung to me while walking here. She wants to be tough in front of President Coin but I know she is very nervous. I'd by lying if I said I wasn't nervous as well.

A piece of hair falls free of her braid, and with her free hand she pushes it away from her sunken cheeks. It's clear to me now that her emotional deterioration has manifested itself physically.

She's too thin. She's too pale. Her eyes are still too dull.

I'll change that, though. Because I've been given a second—no, third chance with her. I will not let this go to waste. I really just want to kiss her. I want to take her back to my room and push her up against the wall the same way I did last night. I want to hide her away with me, keep her wrapped in my arms where no one can hurt her again. I want to see her smile.

I want all of this to go away.

I'm torn from my thoughts when President Coin walks into the large, white conference room. She's a severe-looking woman, with severe-looking haircut and an indifferent expression that is much scarier than seems. Katniss squeezes my hand tighter and I return it with equal force.

I really don't like this woman and I do not have a good feeling about this meeting. Nevertheless, she's our leader and she's fighting the Capitol. It's obvious where my loyalties must lie.

"Good morning," Coin addresses the room, shuffling her papers in front of her as she takes her seat next to Boggs. "We have much to discuss but let us first welcome our friends from District 12: Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the Second Quarter Quell. Gale Hawthorne: District 12 resident and liaison to the rebellion. Margaret Undersee: Daughter to the District 12 Mayor and liaison to the rebellion. Katniss Everdeen: Victor of the 74th Hunger Games."

The table murmurs a collective greeting and I turn to look at Katniss, who has her chin up and is looking directly at President Coin. I can't hide my smile at her resiliency: it's one of the reasons I fell so hard in the first place, after all.

"Miss Everdeen, it's my understanding that you are not as informed as the other three members of District 12 when it comes to the rebellion efforts," Coin explains. I feel Katniss tense considerably and I give her hand a small squeeze. "But please note that your performance in District 12 over the last fourth months was absolutely essential to the effort. Without your emotional display, there is no way that the Capitol would have loosened its reigns on District 12. Albeit, there were some issues with new Peacekeepers and such to keep other rowdy members of the District in line but please know that you played an indispensable role."

I don't like the word 'performance'. I don't like the word 'emotional display' and I clench my teeth together, looking anywhere but at President Coin. If Katniss is upset by Coin's words, she doesn't show it. Across the table, Gale averts his eyes to the sheet of paper in front of him and Madge looks at Katniss pleadingly.

"As I'm sure you've been informed by Mr. Mellark, the rebellion has been brewing for years now but only came to a head after the conclusion of the 74th Hunger Games. We have an arsenal of spies in the Capitol, including but not limited to the current Victor of the Third Quarter Quell, who has been elemental in providing us with key information."

I've heard all of this before. How Enobaria was slated to win the Quell. It makes sense now, of course, given her seemingly obvious support of the Capitol. But as I think back on it, it wouldn't have made sense to me when the mutts were ripping into my shoulder. Or when the jabberjays were imitating Katniss' screams. Or when Gloss' spear met my hip.

No, it would not have made sense in those moments.

I shift in my chair a little, trying to ease the tension I feel in my shoulder and the dull throb I feel by my hip. I've grown used to it at this point but when I'm anxious it seems that the chronic pain I experience doubles in intensity.

"As you would have it, though, the District 12 rescue mission, though necessary, alerted the Capitol to our presence. We can no longer move about under a cloak of invisibility. We must act swiftly in order to side with the districts and together overthrow the totalitarian regime of the Capitol."

This last part Coin speaks, not solely to Katniss, but to the table as a whole. It's clear that she is trying to rile everyone up, which is absolutely ridiculous because everyone at this table is _for_ the rebellion and _already_ riled up.

"Luckily for us, we are at an advantage as we have been preparing for something like this for years whereas the Capitol, under the leadership of Coriolanus Snow, is just learning the extent to which the rebellion efforts have increased. According to our spies, they are scrambling to do something. Anything, really," she says with a smirk.

This should be good news, but I can't help the way my stomach turns to lead at the way she smiles.

"Our plan here is start training those soldiers who are of age for battle. However, because Mr. Mellark and Ms. Everdeen are not yet of age for physical combat—and due to Mr. Mellark's extensive medical history," she says, pointedly, "they will not be joining in the physical rebellion efforts until they are both cleared to do so. That being said, and because the two of you are so important to the idea of the rebellion as a whole—the districts have grown quite fond of you—we have a proposition to make."

I glance between Katniss and Coin, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I knew she couldn't make us fight, that was never a concern of mine. She can't make us fight until we are both 18. That's 8 months away for me and a year away for Katniss.

It's what else she'll make us do that has me worried because I've seen how this woman works.

"We need to begin shooting propaganda films to wire throughout the Districts, including the Capitol. We need a spokesperson for the rebellion, and although Mr. Mellark could do the job by himself, seeing the two of you together is what will push the efforts considerably in our favor."

"What exactly are you saying?" Katniss asks. Her voice is strong and steady. Her eyes, though, look stormy.

"What we are asking, Ms. Everdeen, is if you and Mr. Mellark would continue to play the star-crossed lovers of District 12. We are asking that you communicate the importance of the rebellion in pre-filmed segments to be shot both in District 13 and around the country."

All of a sudden my tongue feels like sandpaper and the panic I've been fighting off trickles back. I feel dizzy and with my free hand I grip the edge of the table.

"You want us to exploit our relationship," Katniss questions. With her words, my stomach sinks to my toes. It's the Victory Tour all over again. It's one higher power using our relationship to their benefit over another. More mind games.

"Exploit is a strong word, Ms. Everdeen. We risked a lot to bring you back here. We are simply asking that you and Mr. Mellark act as our "Mockingjays": our symbols of the rebellion," Coin continues, eyes trained steadily on Katniss. I close my eyes quickly and clear my throat.

"You want us to film segments around the country, expressing our support of the rebellion," I clarify in a hollow voice.

"Yes, Mr. Mellark."

At this point, Coin presses a button on the side of her chair and a large screen lowers itself from the ceiling at the end of the room.

"We've been putting together a series of clips to use," she explains. My body numbs when I see what they're showing. The video starts off with my interview with Caesar from my first Games. They are using me as a voiceover, showing the clips in slow motion.

"_She came here with me." _

The shots fade into each other: The two of us together in the Cave. The nightlock berries. Short clips from the Victory Tour. The Quarter Quell announcement.

"_She was…upset," _my voiceover speaks again.

Katniss running to say goodbye to me. A montage of my Games. And then, a desolate shot of my house in the Victor's Village. Of Katniss' house in the Victor's Village. Of Town. Of the Bakery. Of the Mines.

"_There are too many things that have been taken from us."_

The screen fades to black on the sign leading into the Victor's Village, and confusingly they choose to end the shot on the mutt rosebush which looks as though it's been torn apart. I think the segment is over until I hear my voice ring out on last time.

"_Katniss."_

Finally, the screen comes to life again, showing the two of us collide together. Katniss' strangled sob. A close up of our kiss.

I feel sick. Of all the things they feel like showing, of course they're going to show our reunion—something that should have been private. I had no idea that it was even taped and it's something that should be ours _alone_. My skin burns. It itches. I'm embarrassed and feel far too exposed. I thought we were done with being a circus act.

A formidable silence overcomes the table and I can't look anywhere but at Katniss' trembling hand in mine. I have the sudden urge to flip the table over and punch a wall.

"Mockingjays?" Katniss asks in a tone so detached it automatically worries me.

"It's just a term. A slogan. The pin you wore during your Hunger Games, Ms. Everdeen, is what the citizens of Panem associate with the uprisings. The rebellion. Mr. Mellark wore a similar token on his wrist during the Quell."

I shake my head lightly, trying to clear it. Portia gave me that bracelet. They made me watch as they killed her moments before I was lifted into the arena. I haven't told anyone that, yet. Not even Katniss.

"As their mentor, I don't like the idea of them parading around the District for all to see. Isn't that a little irresponsible? What if something happens to them?"

I'm too shocked by Haymitch's contribution to really process what he said. He's still trying to protect us, it seems.

"They'd be heavily guarded," Coin responds. "And we would never send them to the same District together. We're not stupid enough to put them both in the same place—It would be too easy a target."

"No," I nearly shout. My outburst makes Madge jump in her seat and suddenly everyone is staring directly at me.

"Excuse me?" Coin turns, her face void of expression.

"We won't be separated," I say resolutely, trying to control my voice. It almost looks as though Coin is going to roll her eyes at me but I don't care. "You can't separate us," I say again.

_Not again_. I will never let that happen again. I don't care if I have to lock the two of us in a storage closet, Coin will not rip me away from Katniss ever again. The thought of it makes my head start to pound.

I think I'm more messed up than I realize.

"May I ask 'why' you think you have the gall to tell us what we can and can't do, Mr. Mellark?" asks Coin, clearly aggravated, as she raises her eyebrows in my direction.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to disrespect you," I explain as calmly as I can, trying to mollify the situation. "I just think that if the Districts are so invested in us together, as a team, then seeing us together is better for everyone. If they see us separated, which they associate with the tyranny of the Capitol, it could damage the image," I conclude, shocking myself with my own ability to speak clearly and fluidly enough to communicate a reasonable point. I don't care what I have to say to make it happen, but they'll keep us together.

I feel the stares of everyone at the table but I don't break eye contact with the woman in front of me. I don't care if they all think I'm crazy. I _am_ crazy.

Luckily I can see the battle raging in her mind. I've made a good point.

_Too_ good of a point, it seems.

"Noted, Mr. Mellark," she says through slightly clenched teeth. "Though we still need your cooperation. Both of you. Will you be our Mockingjays?" Coin asks again. I look at Haymitch across the table.

I have no idea what to do; this is a responsibility I wasn't anticipating.

"We need to think about this," Katniss says suddenly. "Please," she adds.

Coin looks between the two of us one last time.

"You have 24 hours."

* * *

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. The two of us walk silently back to my compartment and it isn't until we're both seated on my sofa, staring blankly at the walls, that I finally speak.

"I didn't know this is what she wanted us to do," I tell Katniss, inching closer to her on the couch. "I swear, Katniss, I had no idea."

"I know, Peeta," she replies quietly. The look in her eyes could shatter me. I know she doesn't want this, it's exactly like what happened with the Capitol: we're being used again.

"We have to do it," I tell her dejectedly. I wish we didn't, though, so I try to communicate that with my eyes because I can't find my voice right now. If I could take this all away, I would. I'm not sure how much longer either of us can deal with this kind of treatment.

"I know."

We sit in silence and Katniss stares at the space of couch between us miserably. I'm about to apologize again when she sighs sadly.

"It's never going to end, is it?" I gaze up at her and see frustration mixed with pain in her silver eyes. My face falls.

"Someone is always going to want something from us. This whole charade…people are going to use us for the rest of our lives, aren't they?" she asks softly. I bite the inside of my cheek. I want to gather her in my arms but the look in her eyes is disconcerting and I'm afraid she'll resist me. "I thought it was bad before," she continues. "You know, during the Victory Tour because I thought it was all fake between us. And it wasn't fair to me and it especially wasn't fair to you."

I swallow thickly, brought back to how horrible it was to act out my greatest dream. All I ever wanted after the Games was for Katniss to love me back and despite how superficial the whole thing seems acting it out was a cruel twist on torture.

"And now it just hurts so much more because…" she trails off before placing her hand on mine. The act is small but I take comfort in it immediately. "Because the things between us are very real now and it's like everyone feels they can watch us. They taped when…" she says, looking off to the side. She doesn't have to continue for me to know what she's talking about. They taped our reunion, a moment where both of us were far too vulnerable and raw. A moment that should have been _private_.

"And that was supposed to be between you and me," Katniss says quietly. I turn my hand over and twine our fingers together, braving a look at her once more.

"I don't want people taking this from us," she continues sadly. "This is private. It's one of the only things we have left and I don't want anyone taking it away. And I know we have to do what Coin is saying. We have to be their…Mockingjays or whatever stupid names they want to call us. We don't have a choice."

Katniss heaves a sigh and closes her eyes.

"I just want for us to be left alone," she finishes.

We sit together in silence for a while as I try to come up with an idea to somehow make this better. We're always being ordered around, being exploited for the 'greater good'. Fuck, how I want to be left alone. I don't want them extracting what we have and using it. I don't want to be on guard all the time, too scared to be affectionate with Katniss because I don't want some crew member from 13 capturing the brief moments we have and broadcasting them to the country. For once, I want to be in control of something.

"We'll reverse it, then," I say. Katniss opens her eyes to look at me. Her brow creases in confusion and I scoot closer to her and rest my hand on her cheek for a moment before running my fingers over her lips.

"During the Victory Tour, we were expected to act out our relationship in front of everyone. But they didn't own us when we were behind closed doors. When we were alone we didn't have to pretend." I drop my hand into my lap but keep my gaze on her. "In public we won't…we won't do anything. If we don't show them how we care about each other, they'll have nothing to take away from us. Of course we'll have to listen to them to film those segments but that'll be it."

Katniss tilts her head to the side, perplexed, so I continue.

"It's the same as the Tour, isn't it? Only this time we won't 'act out' our relationship with everyone watching. We won't do that because it's not fair to us. But when we're alone…well…when we're alone we don't have to worry about pretending or not. We don't have to act out anything. So I guess what I'm saying is…let's not give them anything in public, but when we're alone we can be ourselves. We can control it, this time."

I have no idea if I'm making sense or not. I just know that if we're free to be ourselves behind closed doors, when no one is watching, our relationship won't feel as strained or as fabricated. If we take control of something, maybe I'll feel less lost. Katniss stares at me for a few seconds, frowning.

"But they shouldn't be able to…what if I _want_ to kiss you in the cafeteria? Or in the hallway?"

I laugh at this, which I'm pretty sure is the opposite affect Katniss' statement was supposed to have. She scowls at me but I press my finger into her cheek, making it very hard for her to keep her scowl in place.

"Katniss, lets be honest. It's not like you to draw attention to yourself that way. You're a very private person, which is kind of why I suggested this in the first place. And besides, if I'm being honest I always preferred the kisses you give me when no one is watching," I tell her meaningfully.

That's not to say I don't enjoy Katniss' kisses in front of everyone, because I do. I'm only human, after all. But whenever Katniss kissed me in public a large part of me wondered whether or not it was real or if it was for the cameras. But when Katniss kissed me when we were alone—when no one in the world was there to watch us—I knew those kisses were honest and true and very, very real. When Katniss doesn't speak I continue.

"We'll keep this private between us. Until things start to become less confusing, we won't kiss or…or do anything like that in public. They can't take anything if we don't give them anything."

Katniss pauses before nodding, a slow smile replacing her previous frown. To my satisfaction, she leans forward and kisses me soundly.

_Very, very real._

"Although," I say when she breaks away, "this means I probably won't be able to control myself around you when we're alone. Consider this fair warning."

Katniss pushes at my chest and laughs lightly. For now, in this moment, all is right in the world.

* * *

Over the next few days we develop a routine. We're both thrown into the segmented military life that District 13 is known for. We're both told what to do and when to do it.

7:00am: Breakfast

8:00am: Therapy

10:00am: Propo Preparation

12:00pm: Lunch

1:00pm: More Therapy

3:00pm: Military Theory Lessons

5:00pm: Dinner

6:00 pm: Free Time

8:00pm: Sleep

It's a ridiculous schedule to live by, and Katniss is clearly still getting used to it. When I go to therapy, she goes to training. While she doesn't have to fight _yet_, she _will_ have to fight and Coin wanted her to start training immediately. I feel sick when I think about it. Actually, I feel sick whenever I'm not with her.

I visit Rye on my breaks and today is no different. Although we weren't necessarily the closest of friends before this whole mess, it seems as though the rift created by the Capitol and District 13 has forced us together again. If I'm looking at silver linings, I guess I could say that the Quell brought Rye and me together again. But ever since the Quell I've had a hard time seeing the silver lining in things. Unless, of course, Katniss is sitting next to me.

"I'm going crazy here. It's a good thing they're releasing me in a few days. Although don't get me wrong, it creeps me out that I'm going to be sharing a room with you and Katniss," Rye says while pulling at the bandage on his side.

I cringe visibly. I'd gotten used to being alone with Katniss and we've been…enthusiastic…with each other most nights, especially now that we barely touch in public. I don't' regret our little agreement about privacy but this only means that I'm a little harder to control when we're alone and we both get extremely affectionate with one another very quickly. Not that you can blame us, really. Who the hell goes to sleep at 8 pm, anyway?

But now I feel bad because I never thought about the consequences of sharing a room with Katniss _and_ with Rye. I would suggest we sleep in Katniss' compartment but that would be incredibly uncomfortable with her mother and sister in the same room, even if we didn't do anything scandalous. Rye is likely to be a little more understanding.

And sleeping away from each other is out of the question.

"I'm sorry, really, it's just we can't—"

"Relax, Peet," Rye interrupts me. "I get it. I was in 12 when you were gone. I get it."

I watch as he shifts on the hospital cot, wincing slightly as he puts weight on the side of his body that was hit with the bullet.

"What was she like?" I ask, fiddling with the sleeve of my shirt. "Haymitch kind of made it seem like she was…" I trail off, unsure how to continue. No one will tell me in greater detail what happened when I was gone. Katniss doesn't like to talk about it and I haven't even seen Haymitch or Gale or Madge since the strategy meeting.

"I didn't know her before this whole mess so I'm kind of a bad person to ask about this," Rye answers. "But I can tell you she definitely wasn't…right. I don't know…whenever I went to bring over bread she would just…stare at it like it hurt just to see it."

We're both quiet for a moment.

"Thank you, Rye," I tell him, avoiding his eyes.

"For what?" he asks, confused.

"For bringing her that bread like I asked. For making sure she was all right."

If I couldn't do it, I had to make sure someone did. And although Rye and I were on rocky terms before this, like I was with the rest of my family, I knew I could count on him when it came down to it.

"Don't be too pleased with me," Rye sighs. I glance at him and I'm surprised to see that he looks rather conflicted. "It took me a while…" he trails off as he runs his fist over his eyes. "What happened…it hit all of us pretty hard. I mean, you know Mom, but Bar and Dad…"

Rye's voice dies somewhere in his throat and he blinks away a few tears. What started off as a happy discussion about being released from the hospital has turned into something sad very quickly and I find myself getting upset as well. I've been able to distract myself and not think too much about the bombing.

"Do you think they'll come back?" Rye asks, voice thick. "Do you think they survived?"

It takes me a moment to answer him. I feel incredibly guilty because this whole time I've been concerned with Katniss when I know I should be concerned with my family, too. I love them, of course I do. But they weren't there for me at a crucial time in my life. They abandoned me when I needed them most.

Something inside of me changed during my second Games, even though all I wanted was to remain true to myself. I feel like I've become harder. Less compassionate. I'm more cynical and less open. It's why I can't really forgive them and I hate myself for it. I hate that the Capitol did this to me. I hate that I can't really sleep at night, even with Katniss next to me.

I hate a lot these days.

But it still doesn't change that my family might be dead and I'm still very worried about them.

"I don't know," I whisper back, disgusted with myself. I've become a horrible, selfish person.

For a while, the only sound is that of our breathing and the IV drip to my left. After a few long minutes Rye releases a heavy breath and changes the subject.

"Just promise me you two won't screw each other when I'm in the room."

* * *

I am currently coloring with a six-year-old. I've found out that Posy Hawthorne can be very persistent when she has a mind to be and she's insisted that we color as we wait for Katniss.

I'm clearly on edge today and much more anxious than usual.

Prim has had to tell me more than once to stop fidgeting as she cut my hair an hour or so ago (she ended up charming the rations manager into letting her borrow a pair of scissors). Although it's not my fault I'm so fidgety. Today is the first day since Katniss came to 13 that we haven't seen each other during the day. Our schedules don't match up and I didn't even get to see her at lunch because I had a surprise doctor's appointment to check on the status of my one kidney.

I'm so anxious I'm nearly vibrating but Posy has taken it upon herself to try and calm me down. I try to concentrate on the drawing in front of me but I can't seem to get my thoughts in order. I know that she's safe but I still can't shake that clawing panic I associate with whenever she's not with me. I'm so fucking pathetic.

I can't seem to get my conversation with Johanna from earlier today out of my head either. This morning during therapy she cornered me and asked a question I've been avoiding answering ever since Katniss arrived.

"_Have you told Happiness about our mind-fucks, yet?"_

_I stumble with my weights and turn to face Johanna, who is looking at me expectantly. I sigh and put the weights down carefully before turning back to her._

"_We're both a little overwhelmed currently," I mumble. I do not want to have this conversation. I'm just coming to terms with the headaches and the moments of realized panic, myself. I'm just starting to get used to the dull pain in my hip and the sharp, erratic pains in my shoulder. Why should I stress Katniss out even more when I haven't had an attack in weeks? Not to mention the fact that I'd have no idea _how_ to tell her in the first place. Nevertheless, she still doesn't know just how messed up I am.  
_

_Johanna narrows her eyes at me and crosses her arms over her chest. _

"_Seriously, Peeta. What's gonna happen when you collapse and start babbling and your little girlfriend has no idea what the fuck is going on?" she asks, irritated. _

_I huff in annoyance and start to walk away from her. I know she's just trying to help, in the weird way she does, but this is not what I need right now. I'm worried about my role as a Mockingjay. I'm worried about Katniss' role as a Mockingjay. _

_I'm worried about my parents and my brother…and that I have no idea if they'll be coming back with the band of survivors from District 12 any day now._

_And my shoulder is currently killing me. _

"_It hasn't happened in a while and I don't want to worry her. She's already freaked out enough by my lack of two kidneys," I explain. It's a white lie. Katniss is only upset about my lack of kidney because it means I'm more susceptible to injuries and sickness. She told me she asked her mother about it. At the time, I could tell she was trying very hard not to get worked up. Not to mention that we were eating dinner in the cafeteria when this happened and I had to resist the urge to pull her into my arms._

_I must be making a face because Johanna scoffs at me. _

"_I don't _get_ you, Blondie."_

"Mr. Peeta, do you love Katty?"

Posy's voice draws me from my thoughts and the marker I'm using to color my drawing of a forest slides a little on the paper.

"Katty?" I question. Posy pushes her dark hair away from her face and then continues to color the abstract-looking dog she's been working on.

"She's talking about Katniss," Prim says from the other side of the sofa, not even bothering to look up from her drawing of a goat. I turn back to Posy who is struggling to keep the pink marker inside the lines of her picture.

"Yes, I do Posy," I answer, bringing my green marker back down to the paper.

Posy nods and then speaks again.

"And she loves you?"

I halt in my drawing again and turn to look at Prim, who doesn't seem to be bothered by our conversation in the least. I wonder why this littler girl is asking these questions. Did Gale tell her something? I know that he still harbors ill feelings towards me, which I can understand on some level, but to communicate them to his little sister is a little much. Maybe she doubts our feelings towards one another because of our lack of affection in public.

I'm definitely over-thinking things but I answer Posy anyway.

"Yes, ma'am," I tell her purposefully. I'd probably be concerned about our lack of affection towards one another in public, too.

But then I remember the way Katniss nearly ripped off my clothes last night after dinner.

Posy nods once more. I'm about to abandon the subject when she speaks again and what she says makes my heart sink to my knees.

"And that's why Katty was so sad when you were gone? That's why she was so sleepy all the time and wouldn't leave her bed?"

I rip my eyes from my drawing and focus on Posy, who is still coloring her dog a bright pink. Prim has stiffened next to me and I try to swallow the lump in my throat. I still get this way when people mention months after the Quell, what little they will divulge, that is. But there's something about hearing this from Posy that hits a little closer to home.

Maybe it's because Katniss refuses to tell me what exactly happened. She refuses to tell me how she got the thin, white scars on her hands. I'd ask Haymitch or Gale or Madge if I could find any of them. I recently found out the reason they're all MIA is because they've been busy with strategic planning for the rebellion. They're never around.

"Posy, will you draw me a flower?" Prim asks, changing the subject. I breathe through my nose and focus on coloring in the trees of the forest on my paper.

Katniss comes in a few minutes later, and when I hear her open the door I shoot up off the sofa so quickly my knee cracks. I think I startled Posy but once she sees the enormous smile on my face, any worries the little girl had seem to dissolve.

Katniss looks tired and her hair is coming out of its braid. She's been in training (I know because I unconsciously memorized her schedule). She scans the room and finds Posy and Prim coloring by the coffee table. Her eyes lock on mine across the room and she grimaces.

"Are we having a party or something?" she asks, pushing a stray piece of hair across her face. I can't take it anymore, so I all but jump over the couch to meet her at the door. When I reach her, I grab her face in my hands and kiss her swiftly on the lips.

She stiffens momentarily, probably because of the two girls already in the room, but I don't care. I haven't seen her since this morning. When I break away I start to plaster her face with kisses—her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, her chin—and the wet smacking sounds I'm making cause Posy to start giggling uncontrollably.

"Someone's extra friendly today," Katniss says, squirming in my arms, probably uncomfortable with the PDA. We're not in public, though, and Prim has seen us kiss before. Besides, I already warned her about this. I couldn't control myself if I wanted to at this point. I've been so anxious all day and sometimes the only way to feel better is to be sickeningly sweet with Katniss.

I smile, snake my arms over her shoulders and around her back, and start to trail my kisses down her neck. It's more theatrical than sexy at this point, and I feel Katniss start to laugh quietly.

When I pull away, I take her hand and lead her to the couch. She sits down next to me but I've missed her so much I just end up shifting her so she's on my lap. Katniss blushes and she makes eye contact with a smiling Prim, but doesn't move away.

"I missed you," I state matter-of-factly. Katniss smiles and cups my jaw with one hand, running her thumb along my chin. She can see it in my eyes that I've had a troubling day.

As much as I loved having Prim and Posy here, I want them to leave.

"Did you?" she asks, sarcasm leaking from the words. I try to think of a response but just end up smiling stupidly at her. It seems as though my worries melt away when she's with me and my body feels infinitely lighter. Right now I don't feel like I'm stuck underground, forced to be involved in a war I want nothing to do with. Right now I'm happy.

Katniss shifts a little and puts her head on my shoulder, shutting her eyes for a moment. Prim and Posy might as well be gone because I can really only concentrate on the girl in my arms. It has me smiling like a maniac and I think I might actually look slightly deranged.

I lean my head close to hers and when my lips are barely grazing her ear I speak.

"I love you," I whisper. We aren't overzealous with the words, really. We both know the truth at this point. But what Posy said earlier has me feeling sentimental.

Katniss opens her eyes and grins. I'm not expecting her to say it back to me, which only makes her whispered 'I love you, too' that much better. I fear my smile may literally crack a hole in my face so I hide it in her hair.

"You two are being particularly adorable today," Prim points out from her place on the couch. I beam and Katniss scowls.

Well, it was nice while it lasted. I'm about to tell the two of them as much when the apartment door swings open and Katniss jumps slightly in my arms. My head swivels at the sound and I see Rye standing at the door, shoulders slumped and eyes puffy and red.

The joy I felt two seconds ago leaks out of me at the sight of him and an ice-cold feeling trickles down my neck, filling me slowly and completely. He doesn't have to say anything.

I know already.

"Peet," he whispers, voice cracking.

The District 12 survivors arrived and my family isn't with them.


	24. Chapter 24

**Peeta**

_The smoke is rapidly piling in through the open window and the cracks underneath the front door. From where I'm standing—no, hiding—I can see the orange glow of the fires raging outside. My head pounds and my heart races but the adrenaline coursing through me isn't enough to make me move from where I'm hidden next to the oven. If anything it's crippling me. _

"_Boys!" my father shouts, barreling down the stairs and hastily shoving his arms through the sleeves in his jacket. He glances at me, where I've been unable to move since the bombs started._

_I am a coward._

"_Where are your brothers?" my father asks, voice calm and low despite the terror that waits for us outside the door. We can't stay here, that much is obvious. But we can't go outside either, can we? _

_I hear a high-pitched hiss and then the ground rumbles beneath my feet. The walls tremble around us and a picture falls to the floor. I move my mouth to speak but I can't make any noise. I'm paralyzed. _

"_Where are you brothers?" my father asks again, panic beginning to infect the calm his voice once carried. _

_As he moves towards me I realize too late that I have no idea where my brothers are. I've been hiding next to the oven the whole time. _

"_Peeta?" my father whispers. The smoke continues to fill the kitchen, burning my eyes and throat. Just as I think I've found my voice I feel a sharp, stinging pain meet my cheek._

"_Worthless."_

_I'm not sure if my eyes burn from the smoke or the slap to my face. Mother moves in front of me, her shadow blocking the glowing lights of the fires outside. I twist and turn, trying to make myself smaller. _

"_Worthless. All you'll ever be is worthless," she spits at me as she lifts her hand again. I cower against the oven door, waiting for another blow. I deserve it after all. _

_I _am_ worthless. _

_Instead, my mother grips me by the neck, throws open the oven door and hurls me inside. _

"_If we're burning, you'll burn right along with us."_

_My scream is locked away the in the oven with me. No one will hear me now._

"_Peeta!" I hear my father shout from somewhere behind my mother, though the sound is muffled. When I try to call back to him I just end up choking on smoke. _

_I watch in horror through the slates of the oven door as my mother lights a match and drops it into the burner. _

"_Peeta!" my father calls again as the flames engulf me, licking up my leg and across my shoulder._

"Peeta."

_I claw at the oven door, unable to breathe through the smoke—my throat is on fire. My muscles are locked tight and my arms and legs move in jerked spasms against the burning sides of the oven. _

_But I can still save them if I can just _get out_. _

_My shoulder stinks and my leg aches but I push against the iron walls of the oven anyway. Everything hurts but I'll get to them. _

_I have to._

"Peeta."

A faint pressure on my forehead jolts me awake and I gasp for air, trying to steady my swimming vision in the process.

"Peeta, shhh."

It's dark and I begin to panic again until I focus in on the pair of grey eyes glinting in the dark in front of me. The acrid smell of smoke that had been choking me before begins to fade away and I gulp in the clean air greedily. Katniss leans over me—hovering, really—looking the most concerned I've seen her in weeks. When she sees that I've begun to wake fully, she edges nearer, bringing her face closer to mine. She doesn't stop until her eyes are the only things I can see clearly.

Katniss brings her hands to my face and starts to smooth her fingers over my cheeks and under my eyes.

I swallow thickly to try and dissolve the massive lump in my throat as my heart rate slows.

"Well," I say, voice trembling, "I'm not in the oven, then."

And then the dam breaks. My voice catches on the last word and tumbles into a sob. I try to cover my face with my arm as my body slumps into the mattress. These nightmares have been coming for weeks—ever since I found out my family died—but I've never cried after one. I guess I didn't realize that they were chipping away at my composure slowly and steadily until they left me too raw to hold myself up anymore.

Katniss runs her arms up around my neck and presses her face against my cheek.

"Oh, Peeta."

Her voice is the sound you would expect a dying animal to make and my sobs turn violent. I can't get the image of the smoke-filled bakery out of my head. I can't get my mother's voice to stop ringing in my ears. I moan pathetically and I lift my heavy arms, draping them uselessly around Katniss' back. I don't even have the strength to hug her even though it's all I want to do.

"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I'm so sorry."

I don't even know who I'm saying it to at this point. The list could go on for miles and I know that the majority of the people on it aren't alive to hear even my apology.

Katniss tightens her arms around my neck and presses her face into the side of my neck, whispering my name like the lyrics to a very sad song. I listen to her without really hearing.

My parents and my oldest brother are gone and I cannot bring them back. The guilt has eaten away at me, leaving me exhausted and vulnerable. Even though I know I didn't have the best relationship with parents, or my older brother for that matter, they're still my family and they're no longer here. It's in the dead of night when I find time to mourn them, only I wake up Katniss and Rye in the process.

The first time I had a nightmare about my family, Rye had to leave the room because he was so shaken. I was too humiliated to talk to him about it. He left the room the second and third time as well. The fourth time he told Katniss that he needed to go for a walk and he didn't come back until just before breakfast. This is what he does every time now. It's just something else I'll add to the list of things that make me furious and sad and embarrassed and _guilty_.

Katniss stays, though. She can be fast asleep when I start these dreams but her body will eventually sense that I'm in the middle of a fit and she'll wake up. I know because mine does the same with her although I've been the one having the nightmares as of late.

My crying makes me overwhelmingly embarrassed but I can't help it. I don't want Katniss to see me like this because I'm the one that's supposed to be strong. But being strong when you feel so weak is tiring and tonight was the last straw. I couldn't hold it in anymore.

In an attempt to center myself, I take a deep breath and focus on the smell of Katniss' hair. Somehow it still smells like fresh rain even though we've been cooped underground for months.

When my crying dies down to a steady stream of silent tears I shift to pull Katniss so she's lying flat on top of me. She doesn't question a thing, only presses a light kiss to my cheek before resting her head against my shoulder and playing with the hair on the nape of my neck. She knows that I need to hold onto something after my nightmares. She knows that I like her weight on top of me, holding me down and preventing me from flying away.

"I woke you up again," I tell her when I'm confident I can speak without my voice cracking. Katniss pushes up off me and slides down my bare chest. I don't sleep with shirts on anymore. I kind of got the hint that Katniss liked it better that way when I would wake up with her hands so far underneath the fabric they were almost to my neck.

She's the one who wears my shirts to bed now.

"I was already awake," she says quietly, fiddling with the hair that's fallen out of her braid.

"No you weren't," I sigh. "I'm really sorr—"

"Don't say that," she snaps suddenly, her eyes flitting up to mine. She must see the hurt on my features because her next words are impossibly soft. "Please, Peeta. You have nothing to be sorry for." Her throat contracts as she swallows. "You know the only reason I don't like your nightmares is because I hate seeing you so upset."

I sigh again and close my eyes but just end up opening them again. I still see the bakery when I close them.

I want to apologize again but I know there's a high probability she'll slap me if I do so I take a deep breath and change the subject.

"Where's Rye?"

Katniss looks down at her fingers when she answers me.

"Went for a walk."

I nod and rub my eyes, exhausted. Of course he did. He went for a walk by himself because he has no one now. All of his friends are gone. Less than 100 people made it back from District 12 and the majority of them were not from Town.

When I feel Katniss move to get off the bed my hand shoots out from next to me to grab onto her. The reflex is pathetic, really, but I can't help it.

"I'm just getting a washcloth. You're too hot and you're sweaty," she explains, leaning over to kiss me softly on the lips. I catch her face between my hands and hold her in place, molding my mouth to hers. I don't want her to go anywhere.

_Just let me kiss you. Let me kiss you and forget everything else._

"Let me do this for you, Peeta," she whispers sadly after pulling away. "It's one of the only things I can do to help," I hear her mumble as she leaves the room to get a washcloth. I don't really understand her words until she's walking back to the bed, eyes downcast and swimming with unshed tears. Katniss bites on the inside of her cheek as she runs the damp cloth over my forehead.

"Katniss," I whisper but she still won't look at me. The cloth moves down to my neck and over my shoulders but my eyes don't leave her face. It's pinched and her bottom lip trembles.

"Katniss," I try again. "You _do_ help."

How can she think she's not helping? It's the most ridiculous statement ever said since she's the only one who _can_ help me. Can't she see that? How else would I have made it through these past few weeks? She's the only one that can turn my mood around after these nightmares.

I take her chin in between my fingers and force her to look at me. This time she can't hide the fat tear that slides down her cheek, no matter how fast she tries to look away.

"What's wrong?" I sigh, sitting up and stilling her hand on my chest. Katniss falters before she speaks, probably realizing that there's no use in lying to me.

"You don't deserve this," she explains angrily, gesturing wildly with her hands. I'm not fooled, though. I can detect the watery edge to her voice. "Of all people," she continues quietly with a breaking voice, "you don't deserve all the horrible things that have been thrown at you."

When I reach for her, her limbs are unyielding. Taking her hand in mine, I shake my head searching for something to say. Yes, I don't deserve this. But I don't think "of all people" I don't deserve it. She doesn't deserve it either. She doesn't deserve the guilt I know festers beneath her exterior. She thinks this is all her fault.

Finnick doesn't deserve it. Or Jo. Or Haymitch. Or Gale. Or Madge, who's parents didn't come back either.

"C'mere," I murmur, tugging lightly on her arm until she finally collapses in a heap next to me. I grab her around the middle and pull her closer to me, until our limbs are tangled together and her hair tickles my nose and ears. I rub circles on her back and press kisses to her temple until I feel that her ragged breathing has slowed.

"You're not a horrible thing and you've more or less been thrown at me," I whisper into the dark after a while. My tone isn't really light but I know she can detect the humor in my voice regardless, especially after I feel the quiet laughter escape her throat.

It's not surprising to me at all how that sound contributes millions to elevating my spirits.

"I can be a horrible thing," she replies, pinching the skin of my back lightly. The act only makes me hold her tighter and I think I'll finally be able to close my eyes.

"But you're _my_ horrible thing," I whisper back. Katniss tries to hide her grin unsuccessfully. I can't see it but I'll always know what her smiles feel like against my chest. They're unmistakable.

* * *

I hate the propos.

I hate everything about the propos. I hate the stupid outfits they make us wear and the heated speeches they make us memorize. I hate that they shove a camera in our faces when they make us kiss. I hate that a film crew follows us around at all hours of the day, hoping to catch us talking about the rebellion or hugging or sharing any sort of intimate moment that they can exploit and take advantage of.

I hate Coin's smug grin when she comes in to check on us. I hate that she refers to us—Finnick, Johanna, Katniss, me and other 'chief personnel'—as the Star Squad, like we're a bunch of damn superheroes. But no matter how much I hate these things, I know that doing this is for the greater good and the faster we do these segments the quicker this will all be over.

At least that's what I hope.

Katniss and I have been able to avoid being sent out of 13 and into the warzones, at least. I guess I have my "mental state" to thank for that. The District 13 doctors have been hesitant to give me a clean bill of health because of my panic episodes but fortunately (or unfortunately) they've given me the go ahead now that I haven't had any reoccurrences of my "irregular anxiety condition" in months. I'm currently on my way to deliver this clean bill of health—the hard copy, that is—to President Coin herself.

I haven't felt the telltale sign of building panic for weeks, which is something that I'm grateful for. I didn't even have an episode when I found out my parents and Barley didn't return, although ever since then I've been filled with a numb sadness I can't fully escape. My personal doctor in 13, Aurelius is his name, thinks of that as improvement but I don't know what to think of it. Am I that much of a monster that I didn't deteriorate at my parents death?

As I walk down the hallway to President Coin's office I think back on what Dr. Aurelius said earlier today.

"_You've been through too much, Peeta. I think you let your parents and your brothers go before you entered the Quell. It's a coping mechanism and it explains why you've been able to handle yourself since their deaths."_

It makes me sick anyway. When I told him about the nightmares he explained that it was my 'guilt manifesting itself'. All of his technical talk doesn't really help me the way he thinks it will.

I'm about to turn the corner and knock on Coin's door but stop mid-stride when I hear a raised voice.

"—they're minors. You can't send them out into a war-zone, they're only seventeen for God's sake. Do you have any idea how horrible that will look in the Districts' eyes?"

It's Haymitch. I haven't seen him in weeks, except for the occasional spotting in the cafeteria. I know that he's been working closely with the President but that's the extent of my knowledge about his involvement in the rebellion. Not to mention Katniss still beelines in the opposite direction whenever she spots him.

"Mr. Abernathy. It's time that the Mockingjays are seen with the troops. It's been at least two months since Ms. Everdeen arrived and I was just informed that Mr. Mellark has been given a clean bill of health," Coin explains in her sharp, pricking voice.

"_Mental health_. Just because his post-traumatic stress symptoms have died down doesn't mean he's ready to be shoved into the heat of the fire. He has _one_ kidney. He has _one_ leg. Do you have any idea what that could do to him? Or her?" Haymitch argues back. I shift and press against the wall, trying to quiet my breathing.

"I understand that you care about the Mockingjays but you have to realize that this is a war. Adjustments need to be—"

"You're not sending them out," Haymitch cuts her off. "Not when they're still underage. It's your own goddamned policy, why the hell won't you abide by it?" he snarls.

I strain to hear what Coin says in response but it seems as though she isn't saying anything. I thought that we were allowed to go into a war-zone as long as we didn't fight. At least that's what I was _told_. Haymitch's assertion has my mind barreling ahead of me. I would do anything to see the look on Coin's face—to see the emotions boiling under the surface—but it would be idiotic to do anything that might alert the two of them to my position.

"You can win this war without their help," Haymitch continues. "Play your little soap opera segments throughout the District and the Capitol. Do whatever you want. But remember this: isn't the reason we're fighting this war to end the tyranny that condones the sending of children straight to their deaths?"

I swallow thickly. Is President Coin fighting this war for any other reason? My blood turns cold at the prospect.

"You don't seem to realize how important seeing the Mockingjays in action would be, Mr. Abernathy," Coin says sternly. I can only imagine her jaw setting as she says the words.

"I don't care if you think you're sending them out 'just to film'. You can send them into the battle zones when they're eighteen. But it's definitely not happening now so you can think of something else to do with them _here_ until then. You've sent Odair into the thick of it. You're sending Mason soon enough—why don't you film them? It will give you the Victor coverage you want while playing by your rules," Haymitch responds.

My brain works to process everything. This is the reason we've been kept in 13 for so long. Coin has been pushing for our discharge but Haymitch has been protecting us by beating her at her own game. He's been looking after his Tributes this whole time.

I have the strange desire to cut in and stand up for Finnick and Johanna—to keep them here with us—but I know it would be senseless.

As a Mentor, you need to bring your own Tributes back. You can't save everyone.

"The Mockingjays are Victors which means that if they are so inclined to fight, we are not one to stop them," Coin says coldly. I know this argument. It's been explained to Katniss and me multiple times that because we are special—we've survived the Hunger Games—if we want to fight in this war no one can stop us. We've earned that.

Except we don't _want_ to fight and we've turned down their "offer". Katniss won't go into battle because she knows it would destroy me and I won't go because I know it would do the same to her. But we can't escape it forever. Once we reach 18 we'll be forced to. It's unavoidable—Finnick is proof of that. Even Rye, who hates killing _mosquitoes_, has been forced to train until he's capable of conducting himself in battle.

"_Fight_?" Haymitch sneers. "I thought you wanted them _filming_ not fighting. You need to get your facts straight Alma."

There is a rustling of paper and a door slam. I stumble on my false leg and run as quietly as I can around the corner but it's not quick enough. Haymitch lays a heavy hand on my shoulder and swings me around to face him.

I'm too shocked by all this information to do much more than stare at him. In the back of my mind I note his unruly hair and bloodshot eyes. I can't tell if it's from drinking, stress or lack of sleep. Probably all three.

"You didn't hear that, boy. Got it?" Haymitch asks with a stone-cold glare. I force myself to nod before looking down helplessly at the medical receipt in my hand.

"And you come back and deliver this in half an hour," he says before marching away from me.

* * *

"Katty, Katty! Sit next to me Katty!"

Once Finnick found out about Posy's nickname for her, he's refused to call Katniss anything else. To the surprise of everyone, Katniss tolerates it. It doesn't really surprise me, though. Katniss and Finnick have grown incredibly close ever since she arrived in District 13. While Johanna and I have therapy, Finnick and Katniss have training and she's been completely unable to resist his charms. It's kind of hilarious to watch their dynamic, actually.

"Chill out, Finnick," Katniss grins, rolling her eyes and taking her seat next to me.

"Boo. Why is Peeta the only one who gets to hold your hand under the table?" Finnick pouts. I try to stop my smile when I see Katniss shoot Finnick one of her infamous death glare. It might have worked on him the first 3 days she was here but now it only makes him laugh, which frustrates _her_ to no end. Katniss takes my hand under the table anyway. It's one of the few times we get to touch each other in public anymore without anyone seeing or gaping or filming.

Right about this time I would make a stupid joke about my hands being softer than his or something of the like, but overhearing Haymitch's conversation with Coin has me distracted.

Madge takes the seat next to Finnick and smiles at us before digging into her food. When the survivors from District 12 came back, Katniss forgave Madge immediately. I don't think she was overly angry with her to begin with—not like she still is with Gale or Haymitch—so I wasn't surprised to see Katniss talking to her once again. I think the only reason she avoided the whole confrontation had to do with her pride. I'm still in the dark about most things 'Katniss' in the time between the Quell and the rescue but I haven't had much time to think it over.

My mind has been busy with a lot more.

"Hey Madge," I greet her. We weren't particularly close friends before this whole mess but we've developed a sort of camaraderie since the survivors returned. I've introduced her to my one surviving friend from District 12, Delly Cartwright, "the friendliest girl in District 12". Delly confuses Katniss, probably because they have completely different personalities. Not to mention Katniss wasn't particularly pleased to find out that Delly is a touchy-feely person; she'd always get very surly whenever Delly hugged me for too long or spoke too close. Poor Delly couldn't figure out why the hell Katniss was acting so strange until Johanna told her Katniss was just jealous. Embarrassed, Delly has backed off since then.

Katniss still doesn't like Johanna too much, which makes me a bit sad considering Johanna is one of my best friends. I tell myself it will get better in time but time just makes me feel anxious.

Madge murmurs a greeting in response to my 'hello'. She doesn't talk much. None of us do, even Delly who normally couldn't keep her mouth shut. It's times like these that I'm thankful for people like Finnick and Rye, who manage to keep the conversation going despite their own issues. They're doing it now, actually. By the way Rye is chatting Johanna's ear off—not that you could tell she's actually listening—you wouldn't guess that he spends most his nights wandering the halls of District 13.

And by the way Finnick is making Delly giggle uncontrollably by playfully pulling her blonde curls, you wouldn't guess he's the most deeply abused out of all of us.

War is difficult, to say the least.

After dinner is over, I begin to follow Prim back to the Everdeen compartment but Katniss surprises me by saying 'goodnight' to her sister in the hall outside before leading me back to my compartment at a very fast pace. This early dismissal tactic is something I do when I can't stop thinking about doing less than innocent things with Katniss on particular days. So when she closes my compartment door behind us I've already adopted a one-track mind—my hand is already halfway up her shirt and my mouth is already latched onto her neck.

This is _exactly_ what I needed so I'm surprised and disappointed when she pushes away from me.

"What did you learn today?" she asks, ignoring Rye, who had apparently been lounging on the couch the entire time. My ears burn red but Katniss seems to have developed a hard exterior when it comes to Rye and his witness to our affection. He's walked in on us making out more times than I can count. I think what bothers Katniss most about this is that he doesn't seem thrown off guard at all and he enjoys seeing us squirm. I believe Katniss has taken it upon herself to show him that it doesn't bother her, which I know it does.

I try and clear my head from my lust-induced fog and focus on her question. It's harder than it seems, especially when she's standing so close.

"I saw Haymitch outside of Coin's office," I finally explain. I had no idea I was being that obviously distant at dinner. Or maybe it's just that Katniss now has the innate ability to tune into my emotions. It's not very easy to hide things from her anymore. Not that I would even try to, of course.

Whatever the cause of her interest, I delve deeper into the story. Katniss listens to me explain and behind me I can tell that Rye is listening intently as well. I'm not too worried; despite his playful exterior, Rye is smart and knows when not to repeat things.

When I'm done talking, Katniss takes a moment to think before saying anything. In that time, Rye sighs behind us and I glance at him.

"Maybe it's time you forgive that guy, Katniss," he says. "Apparently he's doing a hell of a lot protect you and Peeta, still."

It's no secret that Katniss has been harboring ill feelings towards Haymitch and Gale in regards to keeping information from her. Personally, I think she should just forgive them both. Life's too short to be bitter about this kind of thing. But every time I bring it up, Katniss gets moody and doesn't talk for hours.

"You don't know anything about that, Rye," Katniss says, less angrily than I expected. Maybe she, like me, feels bad he never gets any sleep. Or that he's forced to train hard and long so he can be cleared for combat. Maybe she's finally realizing that whatever beef there was between her, Gale and Haymitch is better forgotten. Not one to be flustered, Rye shrugs before announcing he's taking a shower.

We're both stewing in our thoughts for a while after Rye leaves the room. My mind has already drifted towards tonight. I'm dreading falling asleep, knowing that another crippling nightmare is surely in my future and I certainly don't want to cry in front of Katniss again. I'm so caught up in my own fears of waking up bawling that Katniss' voice catches me off guard.

"I don't trust Coin," she says.

She's staring at me steadily, appraising my reaction to her words with her silver eyes.

_I don't think I trust Coin either. _

* * *

We're both in a bad place by the time we've finished filming the latest propo. Ever since I overheard Coin's conversation with Haymitch it seems that propo filming has been kicked into high gear. I don't even understand what more they could possibly film but it seems the creative teams behind the whole endeavor just figure out different ways for us to phrase things or different ways for us to be seen together.

Either way, it's better than filming in the war-zones, which I won't let myself comprehend fully because it scares me so much.

Katniss and I are moving our way through the studio that 13 has set up when we see Finnick and Johanna in the corner in front of a camera. We both stop short and share a furtive glance. Seeing them shocks us both because as of yet, neither has been asked to film anything. We quietly make our way to the side of the room where they're situated and upon closer examination, I can see that the camera is focused on Finnick's face alone.

I realize rather quickly what he's speaking about.

It took two months for me to learn the extent of Finnick's experience with the Capitol—of the forced use of drugs and near rape. He's explaining it in excruciating detail to the camera right now and if it weren't for the way he was gripping Johanna's hands—his knuckles turned bone-white—you wouldn't be able to tell how sharing this is affecting him.

Johanna's mouth is set into a firm line and she's staring at the opposite wall with unseeing eyes. Katniss stiffens besides me and I know she's listening to the terrible things that Finn's been forced to do. I've heard all of this already but I still feel the bile rise in my throat. It's disgusting. Truly appalling that anyone could take advantage of someone the way they've taken advantage of Finnick.

He won the Games when he was 14 and was introduced to this 'lifestyle' almost immediately after winning. The things he was forced to do are so hideous that I've tried to put up an emotional barrier to cope with simply _hearing_ about it. I can't understand how Finnick is able to hold it together the way he does.

I don't know how long I remain rooted to the spot, staring at Finnick's emotionless face, but the next time I look beside me I'm surprised to see that Katniss is no where to be seen.

I whirl around, scanning the room, but I don't spot her anywhere. Forcing my legs to move, I leave the studio just in time to see a dark braid whip around the corner. I want to call out to her but by some miracle no one has noticed that we've disappeared and I don't want to draw attention to our absence.

Instead, I run after her.

When I turn at the corner of the hallway, she's disappeared again. I'm about to start moving again when I hear a retching sound to my left.

There's only one door—a utility closet—in this empty hallway so I walk forward and yank it open only to be met by darkness.

"Katniss?" I call out quietly.

Her answer is another horrible retching sound. When my eyes adjust to the darkness I see her kneeling in front of a bucket, gripping the rim tightly with both hands.

"Oh my god," I whisper, before moving forward and crouching next to her, hesitantly placing my palm on her back. She vomits again and then wipes her mouth with the back of her shaking hand.

When Katniss looks up at me her eyes are as wide as dinner plates and her face is very pale. She grips a shelf and moves to pick herself off the ground, wobbling on her legs like a newborn deer. I move my arms up to steady her only to realize she is shaking like a leaf.

Ignoring the pain in my knee and hip, I move to a standing position. I'm not fully upright when Katniss grips my shoulders so I almost fall back down.

"Hey," I soothe, placing my hands on her trembling arms. "Hey."

She's breathing too rapidly and she won't meet my eyes so I take her face between my hands and force to her look up at me.

"Breathe, Katniss."

Her face crumples but she doesn't shed a single tear.

"I can't…" she croaks, clutching at my shoulders. "I didn't know…"

I gulp and nod, closing my eyes briefly. When I open them again Katniss' breathing is verging on frantic so instead of trying to talk sense into her like I normally would I just crush her to me.

"Oh my god," she cries into my shoulder, voice high and strained. Her fingers dig into the skin of my back, like she's trying to reassure herself that I'm here. "It could have been you. It could have been you, Peeta," she rasps, her voice raising another octave.

My muscles tense up at her words. Not once in the months since the Quell have I thought about that—with everything else that's happened I'd completely forgotten about Snow's empty threat to pass me around the Capitol. Suddenly I feel like I may need the bucket.

"Oh…no," she continues between gulps of air, "they could have taken you and done that to you, too." I can feel her heart drumming away from where my hands are placed on her back—it has me more worried than if she were weeping puddles.

"Breathe, Katniss," I whisper, easing us slowly onto the floor of the closet. "Just please calm down."

"You could've—"

"But I didn't," I tell her as calmly as possible. Can she feel how fast my heart is racing, too? I swallow. "Nothing happened. I'm right here."

"Everything happened, Peeta! You almost died. _Again_. I can't…" she trails off, shivering in my arms.

With nothing to say, I hug her close. I don't think I have it in me anymore to try and rationalize The Hunger Games, or the Quarter Quell, or Finnick's abuse in the Capitol. I'm done trying to make sense of it and for once in the past few weeks I am thankful for Alma Coin.

"I know," I tell her softly. "I know."

We sit on the floor until Katniss' breathing returns to normal. There's a broom or a mop—some cleaning instrument—that's pressing uncomfortably into my back but I don't move until Katniss shifts out of my arms and sits next to me.

"He did it for that Annie girl didn't he?"

I nod into the dark. Finnick's never actually told anyone exactly why he followed through with the horrors the Capitol subjected him to. Actually, no one has ever asked because they all seem to know that following through with something like that means something incredibly important to you has been threatened. Johanna refused a similar fate and she lost everyone—though she doesn't go into detail about it. Finnick's Annie is the most important thing in the world to him. It's the only reason anyone can think of him putting up with the horrible things that he's been subjected to.

"I would kill anyone who touched you," she murmurs darkly. Through the dark I see her eyes flicker. She's taken that blue sea glass out of her pocket and is rolling it around her palm. She has it with her, always.

Her unyielding, steely gaze tells me that she is not exaggerating. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. The thought of anyone besides me touching Katniss already has me seeing red so I force myself not to think of her being placed in Finnick's shoes before I have rage-induced aneurism. To try and calm myself down I take Katniss' hand in my own and bring it to my lips.

"You know I would do the same," I whisper into her palm. I kiss her sea glass before letting go. Katniss places her hands in her laps and peers down at them sadly.

"I ripped up the rosebush," she says. "After the Quell," she swallows. "That's why I have these scars."

I tilt my head in her direction again. She might look healthier—she's gained some weight back and the bags under her eyes have diminished some—but in this moment she looks impossibly broken.

I flip her hand over in mine and trace the thin, white scars that cover her palm like a discombobulated map. My mind flits back to the image Coin displayed in the sample propo of the wrecked rosebush. It's thorny branches were twisted at awkward angles and some of the roots had been torn out. Katniss did that with her hands and they've paid the price.

I kiss her palms, each of them, grateful that she didn't punch through each of the windows of her house like I would have. Grateful that she didn't set fire to the Victor's Village like I would have. My legs ache so I stretch them out in front of me before reaching for her. Katniss complies easily and melts against my chest.

"They killed Portia in the launch room before the Quell," I explain tonelessly as I look across the closet at a shelf of cleaning supplies. "They made me watch."

I know Katniss' admission about the rosebush was hard for her. Why else would she have refused to tell me until now? It's only fair for me to tell her something similar in nature. To her credit, Katniss doesn't make a sound at this information. She does, however, shift on my lap so she can wrap her arms tightly around my neck.

I can't cry for Portia anymore. I did it a lot in the weeks after the Quell and my nightmares then revolved primarily around seeing the peacekeepers beat her senseless.

I don't think there's anything left in me for her. I'm numb.

Katniss runs her fingers through my hair and rests her head on my shoulder. Maybe she's thinking about Cinna. Or Effie. If she were to ask me where I think they are I wouldn't be able to tell her. Silence fills the closet as I trace patterns on the skin of her back.

"Thanks for finding me," she murmurs after a while. I dip my head to meet her eyes. Her braid is a mess and her propo makeup is smeared. Her breath smells disgusting.

She's still the most beautiful girl I've ever known.

"I'll always find you," I respond. "I would kiss you now, too, but you were throwing up. I need to draw the line somewhere, right?"

I smile into the dark when I feel Katniss poke my side. She climbs off me and then helps me to my feet. We leave the closet hand-in-hand, neither of us ready to let go quite yet.

If the cameras catch us, so be it.

* * *

Three days after Finnick's fated propo, I'm sitting with Madge in the cafeteria waiting for everyone else to arrive for dinner. We're watching Rory and Vick Hawthorne argue a few tables over.

"What has Gale been doing all this time?" I ask Madge, abruptly. I've seen neither hide nor hair of him for a very long time and it didn't occur to me until now to ask Madge about it. We've all been wrapped up in our own little worlds—especially since the survivor's of District 12 came back—so I wasn't overly concerned with Gale's lack of appearance around District 13.

When Madge doesn't answer me, I look away from Rory and Vick to see that she's stiffened, her fork hanging frozen about her food. It takes her a moment to collect herself.

"I don't know," she mumbles. "He hasn't really spoken to me in a while," she states stiffly before continuing her meal.

I study her face closely as she looks down at her food. She looks quite sad, but I've grown used to seeing that expression out of her after her parents didn't come back. This is a different sadness; one I think I recognize but isn't my place to address. You'd be an idiot not to notice the strange tension between Gale and Madge when they first got here.

She loves him.

I was an expert on this kind of heartbreak for a while—I think I could sniff it out of anywhere at this point.

"But he was working with Beetee last I saw of him," she finishes. "Military stuff."

The rest of our table is just piling into the cafeteria when my wrist tracking device starts to buzz. All of us are forced to wear these so in emergencies we know where we're needed. Mine is currently flashing 'conference room.' I glance across the room and see that Finnick, Johanna and Katniss are in line to get food and that their devices are buzzing as well. I whisper a goodbye in Madge's direction before shooting off the table and towards the exit.

Everyone looks just as confused and anxious as I feel. The last time my device went off, the Capitol was sending bombs to District 12. None of us say anything as we hurry through the corridors to the conference room. Katniss inches closer to me and brushes her fingers against mine. We usually do this sort of thing when we're out in the halls and people are watching. Normally that's where we leave it but I'm so worked up I grab hold of them and don't let go until we've reached the hallway leading to the conference room.

Together we shuffle inside and I notice that Coin is already present—a complete oddity. She's seated next to Boggs and—coincidentally—Gale, who is sporting a much shorter haircut and much sterner expression than he was when he arrived. It's the first I've seen of him in months. The same can be said for Katniss who tenses when her eyes land on him. Gale shows us no recognition as we take our seats along the table. Haymitch is seated at the far end, his face a mask of indifference. When I try to make eye contact with him he looks the other way.

I grab Katniss' hand under the table and try to control my face but I'm far too nervous to really succeed at it. Quickly, I glance at her. She's clenching her jaw and the little line between her eyebrows is present: she's worried.

I tap my fingers on her knee, hoping it calms her some.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Coin says once the last person has taken their seat. "It appears that District 4 will be falling any day now and we need to gather a team together to rescue those of high importance. You all have been alerted because we are going to film it. We need the positive publicity and a member of the Star Squad will act as a mouthpiece for the mission."

My mouth hangs open. Coin certainly didn't dance around the issue this time. The Districts have been slowly falling. After 12 fell, 8 followed shortly after. Then 9, 11 and 10. We still don't have control of transportation, power or technology—those are what 13 is after most aggressively so District 4 comes as a surprise. This would normally be a good thing—it means that District 13 has control. The infiltration of a career district is key. But all of us know what is in District 4 right now.

I look across the table to Finnick, whose face has drained of color.

"I'm going," he nearly shouts before controlling his voice again. "President Coin, I'm going on the rescue mission. I've been training and I'm completely prepared to handle the risks involved."

Even though Finnick is physically prepared for this, I know before he stops speaking that this won't work. I begged to go on the District 12 rescue mission. Finnick is in the same predicament that I was.

"That's not true, Mr. Odair," Coin says simply. "You know we have a policy that does not allow those emotionally compromised to go on missions. You would jeopardize the entire assignment."

Finnick's face falls and I know what I have to do. The moment Finnick volunteered to go on the District 12 assignment I was indebted to him. I vowed that, if given the chance, I would do the same for him. I have to, he's like my brother, and he brought Katniss back to me.

I _need_ to do the same for him.

"I need to. What if something happens and…and I can't…" Finnick sputters. His eyebrows raise up, almost meeting above his nose, and his hands start to shake on the table.

"I'll go," I interrupt. "I'll go on the mission to District 4. I know the—"

"No!" Katniss shouts almost immediately, surprising everyone at the table. "No, Peeta," she adds more quietly. I turn and balk at her. Of all people she should understand why I need to do this. She knows how important Finnick is to me. _To her_. Hell, we were just talking about Annie!

Finnick needs her here with him.

"Katniss—" I try to explain quietly.

"You promised me," she interjects lowly, not letting me get more than a word in. She narrows her eyes and locks me in place. "You _promised_, Peeta."

It's all I can do to stare at her, speechless and suddenly forgetting how to breath.

"_You can't ever do that to me. Promise me. You can't do that to me again, I won't survive it next time."_

She can't do this right now. She can't use that against me.

"_Never again. I promise you."_

I plead with her silently, uncaring of the eyes that are surely glued to us. I'm going to have to break my promise to her. I'm going to have to break her heart. My chest cramps uncomfortably at the realization. She'll have to understand.

A small part of me dies on the inside when I turn towards Coin once more. But I open my mouth anyway and—

"I will go on the mission, President Coin."

My insides turn to lead and I swivel to face Katniss again.

"Peeta hasn't been training like I have; he's not ready. I've been doing it for weeks now and I'm already experienced with a bow so if I need to protect myself I'm able," she explains quickly. "I volunteer for the assignment."

_Nonononononono_

Anything else in the world but this. Anyone but her. _Anyone_.

The panic hits me with the force of a freight train and the familiar sticky feeling of my harbored anxiety trickles through my veins so fast it nearly floors me. From the episodes I've had in the past, nothing compares to what I feel now and it's barely even started. I blink at Katniss once. Twice. Three times.

It's like I'm back in District 12 at the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games.

"_I volunteer," Katniss screams. "I volunteer as Tribute."_

The muscles in my arms and legs stiffen painfully in place, locking me in this nightmare. They feel brittle. Like if someone nudged me every single one of them would splinter into a thousand pieces. I can't tear my eyes from her. I can't move at all. I watch helplessly as she swallows, not meeting my eyes.

"She's not of age," I hear Haymitch snap from his end of the table. "She can't go into the battle until she's eighteen."

It's all I can do to breathe at this point. So that's what I do. I breathe—raggedly taking in mouthfuls of air—as I listen Haymitch and Coin, wondering if they know that I'm being torn in two. Wondering if anyone can tell.

"That's true Mr. Abernathy but like we agreed months ago: the Victors of the Hunger Games have the right to fight if they so please. We cannot stop them if it's their wish to enter battle," Coin explains lightly and _I don't trust her. I don't trust her. I don't trust her_.

"Besides, the allotted Star Squad member wouldn't actually be fighting, per se. They would act as a mouthpiece—to film—and maybe to ensure the safe rescue of those deemed of high importance. Ms. Everdeen has made a solid—"

"This is a war-zone—the girl can't go. What if something happens?" Haymitch argues back.

Like oily tentacles, the fear and panic I've been trying to keep at bay sneak up and around my body, squeezing every rational thought I've ever had from my mind and robbing the breath right out of me. The voices in the room tunnel out and it's as though I've been shoved under ice-cold water, choking and sputtering and crying out for help.

But I'm frozen solid and silent. I feel Johanna digging her nails into the skin of my forearm but I can't really feel it—it's just a faint pressure that's slowly ebbing away. The conference room is tilting this way and that, making me feel even sicker.

"I'm going, Haymitch," I hear Gale say, though his words are distorted, slow and slurred. "Katniss and I are used to working in tandem. We'll ensure a safe rescue."

An icy pain shoots across my temple and my vision flickers for a moment before everything goes blank. When it's restored I see Katniss nodding, speaking to someone across the table. A dull ringing floods my ears and it's all I can hear. My vision blanks again and when it comes back nearly everyone has left the room.

I have no idea how much time has passed but the shock and fear I feel is still scratching away at me.

Katniss reaches for me but try as I might I cannot move any part of me. I'm paralyzed, like it's one of my nightmares, and the dull throbbing in my head turns into a white-hot, scorching sting. Her mouth moves like it's in slow motion, producing nothing but empty sound. Through my foggy, panic-stricken brain, I barely even notice the way her brows pinch together and her face slackens.

She's scared.

And I'm terrified.

I manage to blink a few times but it doesn't dissolve the black spots in my vision. Or the nauseating feeling in my stomach. Or the fact that I feel as though my hearts going to break through my ribs and flop around on the table.

I can't breathe anymore.

Katniss' frightened face is the last thing I see before everything goes black.


	25. Chapter 25

It's well past midnight but I refuse to leave the hospital wing, despite the near murderous looks the nurses are giving me. Instead I concentrate on the way Peeta's eyelashes fall against the tops of his cheeks. He looks like the most peaceful person in the world—a far cry from the person he was earlier this evening.

I've been sitting by his hospital cot listening to the gentle hum of the machines around me and when I'm positive the nurses have left the area, I inch as close to the narrow bed as I can. I place my palm over Peeta's chest, comforted somewhat by its steady rise and fall. With my other hand I brush away the hair that's fallen into his eyes and I let myself linger a bit on his cheek.

_Wake up_, I silently plead, remembering the way his eyes went wide with terror in the conference room and the way he gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned bone-white. I was so focused on Coin's directions that it wasn't until almost everyone had left the room until I realized something was _wrong_.

Very wrong.

In a flurry of movement, Johanna had pushed herself out of the chair next to Peeta and yanked his arms up and away from his body. Peeta had fallen to his knees, tried to stand, and then careened towards the wall, all the while his face a mask of pain and fear. Before I could even process what was happening he started clawing at the concrete wall of the conference room, tearing his nails to pieces.

Carefully, I run my fingers over his, frowning at the bandaged tips. When I had tried to run at him, Haymitch grabbed my arms and pulled them behind my back. My screaming is what alerted one of the District 13 guards to run down the hall and towards the commotion. Luckily he'd had a sedative on him.

Even after being transferred to the hospital wing hours ago, Peeta has yet to wake up.

I lay my head down on the stiff mattress and clutch onto his forearm. Closing my eyes, I bring his hand to my face as delicately as I can.

"I couldn't let you go," I whisper into his palm. I doubt he can hear me but at this point I'm speaking to try and ease the tension that has been slowly building behind me eyes and inside my chest. I just need to tell _someone_.

After Peeta's 'episode' Haymitch gave me a very basic description of the types of attacks Peeta's been prone to ever since the Quell—influenced heavily by the amount of venom he was exposed to in the arena.

_The type of attacks Peeta has never told me about. _

The type of thing that Peeta kept from me even though I thought we were done with secrets _months_ ago.

But right now I'm too worried about his health to be angry and I'm too caught up in the reason he had this 'episode' in the first place. Peeta must know why I volunteered to go on the mission. As much as I've grown fond of Finnick, I didn't volunteer for him. Or Annie. I volunteered for Peeta because this time _I can_.

I volunteered for Peeta because I will not lose him again.

Never again—he said it himself.

"You promised me you wouldn't leave me again and I couldn't let you go," I murmur again into the skin of his wrist. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to block out the memories of my life after the Quell. "You know how much I love you, don't you?" I sigh, feeling sleep start to tug at me. "I need to keep you someplace where you won't get hurt."

I don't even know why I'm explaining this to him when he's clearly not conscious. I don't even know why I'm explaining this at all considering he must know it himself. How could he possibly think he is stable enough to enter any sort of combat training—especially after the episode in the conference room? I hate myself a little bit for thinking along the lines of Alma Coin, but he would be a danger to everyone involved if he were deployed. He'd be a danger to himself.

Selfishly, though, my reasons had nothing to do with logic. I simply couldn't bear the thought of seeing him leave again.

At some point, I drift off clutching Peeta's hand to my cheek and wake up to it being pulled roughly away. It must be one of the nurses, so I open my eyes groggily, ready to start arguing, and instead am met with Peeta's blue stare.

I sit up quickly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and move back in my chair to stretch my spine. My back cracks and I look down at Peeta, taking into account his ashen face and blood-shot eyes.

"Peeta?" I question, worry evident in my voice. He stares down at his hands, which are clasped together in his lap and, noticeably, not between my own. There are about a hundred things I want to say to him. How is he feeling? Is he in pain? What does he remember?

_Why the hell he didn't tell me he was so sick?_

"How do you feel?" I ask instead.

He doesn't answer but I see his jaw clench tightly so I know he heard me. A part of me wonders if he knows what exactly happened. During the incident, I had turned to Finnick for answers but he just looked at Peeta with glassy eyes. Johanna wasn't much help either, only muttering under her breathe that _it wasn't her damn story to tell_.

Again, I've been left in the dark.

"Peeta," I whisper. "Do you know what happened?" I ask, reaching for his hand. Peeta glances at me, his blue eyes shining against the fluorescent lights of the hospital. The sweat has dried from his hair, making the ends curl against his neck. When my fingers brush his, he does something he's never _ever_ done before. He shrinks away.

My mouth falls open in shock. I'm too surprised to be hurt by the action—too confused—so I search his face, starting to worry and trying to figure out if maybe something terrible happened inside that head of his. I'm about to ask him another question when he speaks.

"When do you go?" he asks. His voice is short and clipped and I've noticed that he's not even looking at me, but at the door behind me. I narrow my eyes at him, out of reflex more than anything else, wondering why he's taking this tone with me and why he refuses to meet my eyes. A bubble of dread begins to form in my stomach as a plethora of confusing worst-case scenarios fills my mind.

"I…I have a meeting tomorrow with Coin and the rescue team," I explain. The details of the mission weren't exactly hashed out in the conference room. There was a lot of arguing between Haymitch and Coin and once I figured out that Peeta was…not right…I forgot everyone else in the room.

At my words, Peeta's mouth sets into a firm line. Frustrated by his behavior I grasp one of his hands in my own, only to have Peeta yank it away.

"Stop!" he bellows, and the sound is deafening in the silent room. I can feel my eyebrows pull together, angling high over my nose. "Stop," he adds more quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask quietly, unable to hide the fear from my voice. My gut twists uncomfortably when he looks away from me.

Peeta rolls his jaw and closes his eyes briefly.

"What's wrong with me?" he asks, opening his eyes to send daggers my way. "Let's think about that one for a second, OK? What's wrong with me is that I have one leg and one kidney. What's wrong with me is that my shoulder looks like ground beef. What's wrong with me is that I have panic episodes that leave me tired and confused and terrified and I don't know how to make them stop. What's wrong with me is that I can't control _anything_. Not one thing. What's wrong with me is that I can't even look at you right now because I'm so angry at myself and the Capitol and at _you_!"

Peeta is roaring by the end of his tirade, his neck red and cheeks ruddy. I've never seen him this furious before. In fact, I would have suspecting him incapable of such anger. I search my mind for way to handle the situation. I've felt terrible about Peeta's circumstance for as long as I can remember. How many times have I told him he's too good and sweet and kind to deserve all of what's been handed to him? He's been chewed up and spit back out and he's quite obviously not the same—something that breaks my heart because I know he hates how much he's changed. He blames himself for it.

But if he thinks he can take this tone with me he has another thing coming.

"At me?" I ask incredulously, once I locate my voice. Peeta shifts on the bed, his mouth curling into some sort of sneer, and shoots me a look as if to say _"where the hell have you been?"_

"Yes. You," he clarifies when I don't respond.

"What the hell did I do?" I nearly screech. In the back of my mind I wonder if the nurses can here us screaming at each other and how long it will take for them to usher me out.

Peeta's anger dissipates slowly. His shoulders slump and his head hangs low against his chest. He runs his hands through his tangled blonde hair and breathes deeply. When he lifts his head to look at me again his eyes are pained.

"Why did you have to do it, Katniss?"

I realize that as Peeta yelled I'd shrunk back against the chair I'm sitting in. Embarrassed that I let his anger get to me, I sit up straighter, lock my shoulders and lift my chin.

"Because I couldn't let you go again," I tell him clearly. Swallow thickly, I attempting to ward off the memories of having to say goodbye to him before the Quell that usually leave me either an emotional mess or completely numb. I can't afford to be either of those right now so I wait a few moments before speaking next.

"I couldn't watch you leave again and not know if you were coming back. I couldn't do that again."

I let my eyes bore into his, hoping, for once, that he could just see right through me _understand_. He doesn't say anything though, and I wonder if he thinks less of me because my actions were not motivated out of love and respect for our friend Finnick, but out of my own selfishness.

"You're sick," I explain. "You've been through too much and you need to be safe. Here."

While my voice had started off clear and strong, it's dissolved into nothing more than a whisper now. Peeta's face contorts and I realize too late that I've struck a particularly sensitive nerve.

"Don't tell me what I need," he snaps. "You don't know what I need. You have _no_ idea," he shouts.

Far too quickly, I shoot up and out of the chair by his bed, almost tripping on his prosthetic that I'd removed while he was out cold.

Because I _know_ that he _needs_ it to be removed for him to rest properly. How could he believe I don't know what he needs? I know what he needs more than anyone. I'm one of the few people in the world that understands Peeta the way he needs to be understood.

Anger and frustration flow through my limbs with increasing speed and after only a few seconds I'm shaking. We stare each other down and the longer I stand over him, the more furious I become. In fact, I don't think I've ever been this angry with him in my life. I can hear my teeth grind together in my jaw as my blood boils beneath my skin.

"How the hell am I supposed to know if you don't tell me anything?" I shout at him, poking him hard in the chest with my finger. "You didn't tell me about your episodes! I had to learn about that through Haymitch. I should know about that!" I explain, completely irate. "You're my…" I trail off, searching for the correct word. We've never felt the need to define what we are because everything has always been so heated and confused between us. But _fuck_ if I wish we just had the damn conversation because now I'm sputtering like an idiot.

"You're my…you're _mine_ and I need to know that stuff. And you lied to me. You kept your condition a secret. What happened to no more secrets, Peeta?" I finish furiously.

"Yeah, well you don't tell me much either," he shouts back. "It's been months and you haven't told me what exactly happened in District 12 after I left. That's been a secret, too. Why won't you let me in? I thought I might have deserved that much. Just to _know_."

His statement literally forces me away from his bedside. Is he aware of how much of a hypocrite he is being? My expression must look stony.

"You want to know?" I hiss. "Fine. I lost my mind. I stayed in bed for days at a time and would only leave when Prim would start to cry. I hid in closets because everything reminded me of you and I thought you died and I was alone and I couldn't handle the thought of living if you weren't doing it with me. I forgot to eat and I couldn't sleep and I was weak and pathetic and when those Capitol reporters came onto your lawn, I shot at them and I don't even know if I meant to miss or not. I threatened to kill them and then I hid in your house and waited to die. And frankly, Peeta, I think I wanted to."

I refuse to break eye contact with him even though all I want to do is run away. My chest is heaving after my emotional explanation—and my throat hurts from the yelling—but I keep my chin held high.

_Good_, I think. _Now he knows how completely pathetic I am_.

Something shifts in him though, and for the first time during our 'conversation' I think that Peeta finally realizes just how much of an asshole he's being.

"That's what happened," I confirm in a sharp whisper. "Now you know."

Peeta gulps and the way his fingers twitch against the bedspread have me thinking that he wants to make a grab for my hand. In most cases I would curl up next to him and let him hold me, breathing in the comforting scent of his skin.

But right now I just want to get the hell away from him. I turn sharply on my heel and head for the hospital exit. As I'm opening the door, Peeta's quiet voice halts me mid-stride.

"If you leave and don't come back, that's what I'll be like. Why would you want that for me?"

His words deliver the blow he obviously intended but I suck up any sudden doubts I feel creeping forth and take a deep, grounding breath. I move my head to the side but don't glance back in his direction. That's what he would want.

"Because I'm selfish," I respond, and then I leave the hospital before I do something stupid like cry.

* * *

The next morning I purposely get breakfast at the earliest possible hour, intent on avoiding anyone and everyone that may have been witness to Peeta's episode yesterday.

I shovel food into my mouth without tasting it and guzzle coffee until I feel my fingers start to shake. Last night I slept in my bed in my family's compartment. Needless to say, I didn't actually sleep. There were a variety of times throughout the night when I almost snuck back into the hospital wing but as soon as I remembered just how much of a stubborn ass Peeta was being I changed my mind and silently berated myself for almost being so pitiful.

I walk down the twisted maze of hallways to one of the lowest floors in the District. The schedule tattooed to my arm says I'll be in training this morning but I don't recognize the area I'm being sent to.

"_Compound 6"_

It takes a while for me to find the place, but once I reach the double doors of Compound 6, I'm ready to just get my hands on a bow and start firing arrow after arrow into a dummy. I'd never tell anyone this, but I actually enjoy the training District 13 forces us to do. They always make me practice my archery and I relish in the feel of a bow in my hands. And although I miss my father's bow deeply, I'll take what I can get.

It's something I haven't been able to do freely since before the Victory Tour.

The double doors lead into an enormous gymnasium, completely barren except for a line of dummies on the far side and a stand with a variety of bows and quivers in the middle. Gale is rifling through a quiver as I enter. His back is turned to me but when he hears my footsteps hit the floor, echoing loudly off the walls, he turns around. My stomach drops when he does.

I knew that I had to face Gale eventually, especially after the latest meeting in the conference room when he volunteered to accompany me on the mission, but I didn't know that it would be so soon. At this point, I'm aware of how stubborn I've been these past few months. As time has allowed, my head has been cleared of its blurry rage and bitterness. I understand why Gale didn't tell me about Peeta, or the rebellion, and I know that I would have done the same thing if I were in his position. It took me months to grasp and I know there's no way I can articulate just how I came about that realization. It's simply something that I've come to see over time.

An apology has been long overdue but the longer I've waited, the more difficult it's become to confront him.

And as he stands in front of me now, staring at me with hard, grey eyes, it's a struggle to even maintain eye contact with him because I'm so ashamed of my behavior. If he senses how uncomfortable I am, he doesn't let on. In fact, he just keeps staring at me.

It takes an exorbitant amount of time to swallow up my courage and speak but I find the strength somehow, choosing the simplest words.

"Gale," I say, my voice radiating off the polished floor. Briefly, I allow myself to close my eyes and I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry," I say, pulling at my braid awkwardly.

Gale remains standing, the arm that holds his quiver falls slightly by his side. I can't even look at his face, knowing that what I see staring back at me will probably send me running.

"I'm sorry for blaming you for something that was out of your control," I explain, taking time to find the right words even though I just end up disappointed with myself when I hear them come out of my mouth. "I understand why you did it," I add quietly, hoping that he'll throw me a bone and talk or move or acknowledge me in any way.

Gale shifts on his feet and then hikes the quiver over his shoulder. I watch as he takes a few steps away from me, snatches the bow off the stand in the middle of the room, and then turns to face me again.

"You know, you're really horrible with words," he says, meeting my eyes. He doesn't look angry, or sad, even. I find I can't read him at all and for the first time in a very long time, I realize just how much Gale Hawthorne has changed.

"I never said I wasn't," I reply, shoving my hands into my pockets and feeling the cold sea glass against my fingers. Gale studies me for a minute, his expression hard, before turning away and moving toward one of the targets lined up against the far wall.

He positions himself and aims an arrow one of the dummies on the far left. I watch as he pulls back the bowstring, and he releases an arrow into the dummy's neck. He moves for another arrow but I speak again before he can string it.

"Gale," I shout, my voice more panicked than I had intended. This seems to get his attention and he turns around quickly. It's overwhelming trying to apologize to someone who deserves so much more. Who's worked day and night to help, to do the right thing. Who is my oldest friend and saw me at my absolute worst. I have no idea know what to say and I rack my brain for something.

A quiet "thank you" escapes my lips before I can think of anything more meaningful.

Gale's eyebrows turn down.

"For what?" he asks gruffly.

"For volunteering to go with me on this mission," I answer automatically, although I know it's more than that. I'm thanking him for so much more. And I'm sorry for so much more.

"I figured we'd spent so much time protecting you we might as well keep up with the charade," he answers dismissively, though he doesn't turn away from me like I think he would. His words sting.

"I understand why you're mad at me," I say quietly. Of course I know. I've known for months but I've been wallowing in self-pity and fear of confrontation because I know he was right.

Gale pauses, glancing down at his bow, plucking the string gently. He stares at the weapon for a very long time.

"I'm not mad at you," he says after a while. I'm about to open my mouth and argue but he cuts me off. "I can't be mad at you when none of this is your fault. Or my fault. The Games changed you and I was naïve enough to think they wouldn't. The Quell changed you even more. And this war has done the same. It's changed me, too."

Gale's words stun me silent and we share a long look. He's tired and seems older beyond his years. His short haircut makes his features look severe in the unforgiving light and his eyes look haunted. But I guess they've been that way for a while now.

"I'm not mad at you for adapting to survive. I've done the same," he continues. "People change."

With that, Gale turns around, stings an arrow and shoots straight into one of the dummies resting against the wall. I walk on stiff legs towards him and pick up a twin bow and a quiver of arrows. We practice shooting together in silence and for a moment it could be as if we were back in District 12, scouting the woods for game to bring back to the Hob.

But we're in District 13, preparing for a rescue mission. The country is at war.

Gale is right. Too much is different.

"Thank you for standing by me," I tell him after about half an hour of shooting practice. "Even though I changed."

* * *

I more or less sneak into the cafeteria that evening, hoping to go by unnoticed again. I still don't want anyone to confront me about the scene in the conference room and I definitely don't want to have to face Peeta just yet. I've had to deal with a camera in my face for most of the day as they captured footage of me 'preparing for battle' so I'm really not in the mood to talk to or see anyone. But like most things in my life, nothing seems to go my way.

I'm just about at the end of the food line when Johanna 'accidentally' nudges my side.

"Everdeen," she sings. "Don't think you can avoid us."

I sigh and turn around. Johanna is balancing her tray with one hand while the other rests on her hip. I contemplate abandoning my food and just _running_ but she has me cornered and making a scene would be equally as unpleasant as just dealing with her. Johanna takes me by the arm and drags me over to a table where I see Finnick staring vacantly at his tray. I slip into the bench and start eating my food, hoping that the faster I do so, the faster I'll be relieved from this awkward situation.

My mouth is filled with potatoes when Finnick sighs and then speaks.

"Katniss, I never thanked you for volunteering to go on the mission to Four. Thank you. I can't even begin to tell you what it means," he says. I look up from my plate and see him staring at me beseechingly. It's a far cry from the usual 'playful cockiness' routine he has going on. His normally vibrant green eyes are dull and his skin looks a bit pasty. To be completely honest, I haven't even really thought about the importance of this mission, or what it will mean to Finnick. Like always, I've been thinking about myself. But now, as I stare at the broken man before me, I understand just how important it is to bring Annie back to safety. It's incredibly sobering.

"But Peeta—" Finnick begins before I cut him off angrily.

"Peeta was being an asshole," I snap. Out of the corner of my eye I see Johanna grin widely. Finnick only frowns and then glances down at his food, as if his potatoes have the correct response to my outburst. I don't even know if they heard what went on in the hospital but if they didn't, my behavior is probably very confusing.

Luckily Johanna answers my silent question right away.

"Don't pretend you didn't hear the screaming match," Johanna tells Finnick, annoyed. I might not like her, but Johanna isn't one to beat around the bush. For once I find myself thankful for her brazen remarks because I honestly don't think I can handle this side of Finnick. At least not right now, when I have a million other things on my mind.

"Finnick was hovering around the hospital wing, ready to apologize profusely to Peeta after he woke up," Johanna explains with her mouth full of chicken.

"Peeta's not the boss of me," I barge in, irate. "He's not my _keeper_."

I don't know how or when everyone decided that Peeta was suddenly responsible for my every move but I swear to God if one more person references "apologizing to him", I'm going to throw something. Finnick looks up at me quickly but doesn't show any sign that he might apologize. I scowl and spear a potato with my fork, shoving it into my mouth forcefully.

"I know that," Finnick says softly. "But put yourself in his shoes. The episodes make him temperamental and over-emotional. He's not himself during them and he isn't really himself directly after them, either."

Finnick runs a hand through his hair and then rubs his eyes. I want to tell him that maybe I would _know_ these things about his episodes if Peeta had told me about them in the first place but I really don't want to start ranting right now. Plus, I'm so tired and frustrated that there is a high chance I might start crying if I explain my feelings and I definitely don't want anyone to witness that.

And did he forget the terrible things Peeta happened to say?

"_You don't know what I need. You have _no_ idea."_

"Can you honestly blame him, Katniss?" Finnick asks quietly. "He's worried about you. It's not the Hunger Games but it's still a war mission and it's dangerous."

Finnick pauses before taking a short sip of water. He looks like he wants to say more but ultimately decides to leave the table without saying goodbye. As I finish the rest of my food, I let my mind carry me to a place where I have the strength of character to apologize to Finnick. Maybe I've been too callous with him. My frustration with Peeta has prevented me from thinking about my friend. I haven't really thought about Annie at all and I know that if I were in Finnick's position I would be a complete wreck.

_Even though Peeta is driving me crazy. _

With nothing to say, I finish off my meal in silence. Johanna seems to be in her own little world, staring off into the corners of the cafeteria, lost in thought. When I'm done with my food, I pile my utensils and plate onto the cafeteria tray and get up from the table.

"It was actually kind of pathetic how quickly he lost his spunk," Johanna muses just as I'm about to walk away. "I went to see him this morning but he was too busy moping and hanging his head and figuring out ways to try and apologize to you."

I don't even have to look at her to know that Johanna is telling the truth. It's not like Peeta to remain angry for a long period of time. On top of it all, I've been increasingly worried about how our fight might be affecting his mental state because I_ still don't know anything about that_.

I don't care though. I'm still mad at him.

Johanna smiles at the look on my face.

"Think on the bright side, Everdeen. The more angry you are with each other, the better the makeup sex will be."

My scowls and glares have lost their luster since being cooped up underground but I think I manage to send Johanna a pretty lethal one, nonetheless.

* * *

After dinner, I walk slowly back to my compartment, not wanting to face the fact that I'm most likely sleeping alone again. It confused my mother and Prim when they found me 'asleep' in my bed last night but they were both smart enough not to say anything.

I'm watching the floor when I open the door so I'm surprised when I look up to see Peeta sitting on the sofa. Not expecting—or _wanting_—to see him so soon, I frown and shut the door behind me. Peeta gets up off the couch, wincing slightly at the pressure put on his hip.

I pretend no to notice it.

"Hey," he says quietly. I look him in the eyes but then think better of it and avert mine to his forehead. The way he's standing, and the look on his face, reminds me of the orphaned puppies that would crawl around the Hob in the summers looking for scraps.

"I know you probably don't want to see me right now," he explains in a quiet voice. "But I owe you an explanation."

I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin. I continue to stare at his forehead, knowing that if I let his eyes sway me, like they so easily do, I'll just end up forgiving him and I am not ready to do that yet. Peeta sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets. He looks once at the ground but then looks right at me, his blue gaze unwavering the entire time he talks.

"My episodes are a direct result of the venom I was exposed to in the arena. The doctors here tell me that it reacted chemically with the enzymes in my blood and tissues, causing me to have seizures at times when my adrenaline runs high. That's all I really understand of it."

I swallow the lump in my throat but make no other movements. Peeta takes a small step towards me but halts quickly when he sees me begin to back away.

"I've only had a few episodes but they've been terrible," he continues. "The last one before the one in the conference room was the day they told me the Capitol was going to bomb District 12."

Peeta says the last bit with difficulty, imploring me with his stare, pleading me to understand. I think I might. But I'm still so angry and hurt that he didn't tell me this in the first place. He might not have lied but he sure as hell didn't tell the truth. It's the one thing we promised never to do to one another.

"When you volunteered, I just kept thinking about...about the Reaping and...I didn't like you risking yourself like that," he struggles. "I hadn't had one since you got here and I thought that maybe it was because I was better. But that's not the only reason I didn't tell you," he adds. Peeta takes his hands out of his pockets and runs them through his hair roughly. He looks at the wall to his right and bites his lip while I fight off the urge to reach out for him.

"I don't like who I've become," he explains. "I'm not the same person I was. I don't look the same," he continues, laughing bitterly and gesturing down his body. "I can't do a lot of the things I used to. I guess I was scared that if I told you about how mentally unstable I could be, then…then it would be like admitting how useless I've become."

I take the end of my braid in my hand, twisting the end through my fingers. He must know that's not how I feel about him. But I'm still too angry to clarify this.

"Like dead weight," Peeta exhales. "Just like in our Games. A burden."

I look quickly to him, remembering finding him in the mud and discovering his festering leg. Even if I wanted to say something I don't think I could. I never looked at him like a burden, even if he—and the entire country—thought of him that way during our Games. He was my ally. He was my hope that we could survive together.

He still is.

Peeta takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his eyes.

"I'm sorry I kept this from you," he says, taking a step towards me. When I don't move away, he takes another.

"And I'm sorry for the way I acted in the hospital. And the things I said."

When he gets close enough, he runs his fingers over the end of my braid, catching my fingers as he moves down. I let myself search his eyes, finding myself lost in how glassy they've become. He's not far. If I wanted to, I could probably lean forward and kiss him.

"And you are not selfish," he finishes quietly, before turning away and leaving the room.

* * *

I'm barely awake. I'm a zombie.

The training has been exhausting, yes, but it's the briefings and the meetings that are the most tiring. I don't know if I can remember all the steps in this elaborate plan. I don't know if I'm smart enough, or if I can follow directions like I'm supposed to. I don't know how to be a soldier, even if Coin says I'm technically not one. Even if I'm going on this mission to be a 'prop' of sorts, I'm still a part of the team.

A team that is going on a recovery mission and needs to be prepared for battle.

I'm on my way back to my room from dinner after my second day of 'mission training'. Gale and I are still awkward, which, although it's to be expected, and is my fault, it's another unwanted weight on my shoulders. I didn't sleep last night and I've been anxious all day. Peeta wasn't at dinner, either. I haven't talked to him since he showed up at my compartment last night and I have no idea how he is how he is doing.

His forlorn expression and puppy-dog eyes haunted me all night.

So when I see Haymitch ambling towards me as I make my way through a deserted hall, I'm not in the mood to be hassled. I'm completely aware that I have to apologize to him, as well. But for some reason I can't explain, apologizing to Haymitch is far more difficult than apologizing to Gale. It's so difficult I've all but bleached the idea from my brain because it brings me such anxiety.

Haymitch was doing his job as a Mentor. He was protecting me. And he was protecting Peeta. As best he could.

And he succeeded.

I owe him more than an apology. I owe him more than I can possibly comprehend.

Haymitch raises his eyebrows at me when I stop in the middle of the hall. Turning around would be cowardly and walking past him, ignoring the man, would be equally as bad. He crosses his arms over his torso and cocks his head to the side, amused by the sight of me.

"Always the one with words, aren't you sweetheart?" he says with a bit of mirth to his voice.

"I've got too much to say. It's clogging my brain," I shoot back. It's not a lie, that's for sure. Haymitch laughs at this, a booming sound that's offensive in the quiet hallway.

"That's quite the line. Did the boy teach you that one?" he asks when he finally catches his breath. I stiffen noticeably at the mention of Peeta. Now that I think of it, I'm not sure Haymitch has ever referred to Peeta by his real name in my presence. He's always "the kid" or "the boy".

The same "kid" or "boy" that lied to me and the same "kid" or "boy" that I love so damn much that it's becoming increasingly more difficult to _just stay mad at him_. Staying mad at him would be best because then it would be easier to leave him in a few days.

My mind is tangled up.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out suddenly. Haymitch's smile slowly twists itself into a thin line. We stare at each other for a few more minutes. He is, no doubt, taking in my ragged appearance. The unkempt braid and dull eyes. The pallid complexion and ever-present scowl. He looks similar: messy hair and sunken cheeks. He might be drunk, I honestly can't tell anymore. Maybe it's the only way he functions. I've accepted that about him, though. Just like he must accept that my sudden, belated apology is the only way I'll be able to communicate how ashamed I truly am. Unlike Gale, Haymitch doesn't need an explanation. He knows I'm sorry for the way I acted in District 12, for my catatonic grief, and my misguided anger and betrayal once we arrived in 13. All Haymitch has to do is look at me to just _know_.

Maybe it's because he and I are more alike than we like to let on.

"Good," he says. "You should be."

All I can do is nod. I shift on my feet a little, tugging the sleeves of my shirt down over my wrists. Haymitch moves forward but before he can move past me, I stop him, unable to contain the question that's been eating away at me since arriving here.

"Do you trust President Coin?" I whisper dangerously low. I search his face, hoping to find an answer I don't know how to look for. I don't even know what answer I want. I do not like the woman, that's for sure. I hate her. I hate that she parades Peeta and I around just like Snow did. I hate her and her politics. But do I trust her?

I don't know.

Haymitch swallows and rubs his hands over his face. When he looks at me again, his eyes are clear and hard.

"I trust her with this mission. I trust that she will bring you, Hawthorne, the 13 soldiers and that crazy girl back here."

I stare at him, unmoving. Something's off. Haymitch doesn't look as relieved as I feel. In fact, he looks more even more conflicted.

"I don't know about the rest, though."


	26. Chapter 26

It takes three nights by myself before I cave and make my way to Peeta's compartment. My mind is fuzzy and drifting because I haven't truly slept in days. Not to mention Haymitch's confession has me worrying about President Coin's intentions. Even if he did say that he expects us to make it back from the mission to District 4 safely, Haymitch has planted a seed of doubt in my head that I can't shake.

"_I don't know about the rest."  
_

I want to tell Peeta about this. I want to see him, no matter how mad I still might be. I need to see him because I'm still so worried about him.

Maybe it's a result of the Games, then watching him in the Quell, and then thinking he was dead. I _need_ to see him—to make sure he's OK. His apology the other night only adds to this frustrating need, making me feel absolutely feeble. What's even more infuriating is that I think I might actually be ready to forgive him.

I want to. Because the thought of going on this mission in two days with him thinking I hate him makes me want to vomit. But as everyone knows at this point, I can be particularly stubborn if I have a mind to be.

The closer I get to his compartment, the more desperate I start to feel, so I when I reach his door, I throw it open rather aggressively.

Peeta is sitting on the sofa, a sketchpad strewn across his lap. When he hears me his head shoots up and I watch his expression change from 'startled' to 'relieved'. His eyes lock on mine and he does nothing to attempt to hide the look of longing clouding his features. Seeing him in person makes my chest ache.

"I can't sleep," I breathe, disgusted with myself that it comes out as more of a whine than anything else. Peeta pauses only momentarily before getting up off the small sofa, his prosthetic buckling slightly from the change in position.

My chest clenches even tighter.

He disappears into the bedroom where I can hear Rye snoring soundly. For a second I think Peeta will leave me here to simmer in my own self-pity but he comes back shortly, clutching a pillow and blanket in one hand.

Peeta sits down on the sofa and places the thin pillow against the armrest. I watch silently as he unfastens his prosthetic and then sprawls out on the couch. He's far too large to sleep there comfortably but I know in this moment he is giving Rye a well deserved night's rest without the drama that seems to follow the two of us wherever we go. Peeta gestures for me to join him, which I do immediately.

I kick off my shoes without looking at him. Peeta places his hand on my arm and I can't help but glance up and meet his eyes. He doesn't speak but the heartbreaking look he gives me says enough. He reclines slowly, bringing me down to rest on his chest. When I'm settled, he throws the blanket over the two of us and then hugs me so tightly to his body I think he might be trying to absorb me completely.

I can't even pretend that I don't like it; I'm too content and comforted by the feeling of his steady, thumping heartbeat under my ear. Peeta presses his fingers into the small of my back and breathes deeply, the action moving the baby hairs on my forehead and lifting my head with the movement of his chest. I run my arms slowly up his, tracing the muscles of his biceps.

He sighs deeply as I stare across the room at the closed door, my fingers already having moved underneath the sleeves of Peeta's t-shirt. I'm probably squishing him, but I let myself sink into him further and finally allow myself to enjoy his body heat as it seeps into my skin.

We lie together for a while and I inhale the faint sugary smell that seems to cling to him wherever he goes. I'm so relieved I think I might cry.

"I'm still mad at you," I whisper, though my voice lacks the conviction I intended. Peeta runs his fingers over my braid, stopping to trace the shell of my ear.

"Okay," he whispers back.

* * *

The day before we are set to leave on the mission to District 4, I find Prim sitting on her bed, folding clothes. I had snuck out of Peeta's compartment early this morning, unwilling to face his sleepy-eyed morning face because my after spending last night in his arms I know that if he apologized again I would have forgiven him on the spot. Actually, I'm pretty sure all he would have had to do for me to forgive him was to just look at me.

It's kind of pathetic, actually: Katniss Everdeen—unfeeling District 12 hunter and Victor of the 74th Hunger Games—turned to putty in the hands of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed baker boy.

I left because I'm a coward.

"Prim?" I ask, when she hears me enter the room. Prim smiles and pats the spot next to her on the bed. It still surprises how easily she has adapted to life in District 13. While most people mill about, worn down and depressed, Prim has made it her personal goal to bring a smile to everyone's face at least once.

When I join her on the bed, she tugs on my braid, much like the way I used to do to her when she was little. Out of habit, I force a smile at her and poke her nose. I'm not the same sister she had last year. I'm not even the same sister she had a few months ago.

Everything has changed.

Prim puts down the folded laundry and shifts so she is facing me. I don't think she sees the point in avoiding the issue at hand, which is a shame because that's what I do best.

"What's wrong, Katniss?" she asks. Prim tilts her head to the side and gives me a small, encouraging smile. You'd think she was the older one. I swallow roughly and push a stray piece of hair behind my ear, suddenly feeling shy.

"When I'm gone," I whisper, taking her hands in mine. "You need to look after Peeta. Can you do that?"

It's become obvious that he will not be fine when I leave. I'm particularly worried he will have another episode and if they're anything like the one I saw in the conference room, the idea of him relapsing is enough to distract me during the mission, which is dangerous for everyone involved. Prim squeezes my hands.

"Of course," she answers and when I don't respond immediately she adds, "It'll be OK Katniss."

I take a deep, shuttering breath, remembering how Peeta weaved his fingers through my hair last night until he was sure I had fallen asleep.

"He's just…he's too good. He's so worried and I don't want him to have another episode. And I'm so mad at him right now but…" I say, trailing off when I can't find a logical way to finish my thought. Prim taps my shoulder and I look over to her.

"I don't think you should be mad," she says with a small, sad smile. I never told her about our fight but I'd be willing to bet money that Johanna did. Not to mention that gossip travels fast in this district. "He lost his family and he loves you more than anything. He's just worried that something will happen to you, too…because everything he loves gets taken away from him."

Prim must see how much her statement upsets me so she leans up on her knees and pulls me into a hug. I take a few calming breathes as an incredible feeling of guilt washes over me. Guilt and frustration that I've been unable to see things from his point of view. There is always a reason for Peeta's actions.

Always.

"But we're with the good guys," I whisper over her shoulder, fighting off the feeling of burning tears behind my eyes.

"Doesn't change anything," Prim replies, patting my back. "He can still worry. That's what Peeta does when it comes to you," she laughs. "And he probably feels even worse because of Finnick. Peeta probably thinks that Finnick blames himself for everything when it has nothing to do with him. Not really."

I pull back from Prim and rub my temple. Finnick tried explaining this to me a few days ago but because I'm _me_, I refused to listen. The thing is, this whole thing _should_ be about Finnick. It should be about our desire to save Annie and bring her back to him.

_I'm so selfish._

Sitting here with Prim, it's all suddenly very clear to me. My stupidity for staying angry with Peeta makes me want to find him immediately. Or maybe it's just a lot simpler when I've decided that I want to forgive Peeta. That I need to. I already sort of have.

"You're too smart for your own good, Prim," I respond, wishing she didn't have to be exposed to all of this drama at such a young age. It's something I tried to protect her from and failed.

Prim giggles and twists her loose, blonde hair between her hands, blushing. I quack at her, which is probably ridiculous considering she's too old for such games now. Maybe that's why she laughs at me. I move to kneel behind her, taking her hair and twisting it into a long, single braid that runs down her back like a thick rope. I almost want to laugh at the absurdity of this: Prim and I discussing boys and on her bed while I braid her hair. It almost seems normal.

"I'll be so worried about him," I say when I'm finished, laying her braid over her shoulder. "But I can't tell him that because if he knows I'm worrying, then he'll worry and he'll get worked up and—"

"I know Katniss," Prim interrupts me, turning to look at me over her shoulder. When she notices how upset I truly am I see her features soften. Prim takes my hand and pats it.

"I'll look after him when you're gone. I'll make him draw me a million pictures of Buttercup and Lady," she giggles.

I can only hug her fiercely.

"You know I'm coming back, right?" I whisper into her hair. Prim stiffens but then composes herself. You'd almost think nothing was wrong.

"If you say you'll come back, I believe you," she answers. "It happened once before didn't it?"

* * *

I continue with training in a daze. I'm focused but at the same time I am distracted. The mission deadline is fast approaching and it's beginning to hit me what exactly is about to happen. We are set to leave tomorrow night and I think the severity of the matter finally hit me today as I watched Boggs show me the suicide pill I'm supposed to swallow if caught by the Capitol.

It's called nightlock. How ironic that the one thing that saved my life might be the one thing that ends it.

My mind is in a million different places, so when I arrive in my compartment after dinner it takes me a solid minute to realize that Peeta is standing in front of me and has apparently been waiting here for a while.

"I can't have you hate me before you leave," he croaks. I zone in on him, trying to get my mind to cooperate with me for just a second. Like me, he looks tired and worried. The only thing that's gotten me through the day was my plan to crawl back into his arms tonight and fall asleep on his sofa again.

After the nightlock explanation, all I wanted to do was run to Peeta.

"I don't hate you," I sigh, taking a step forward and running a fist over my eyes.

"You're angry," he argues back, brows pinched together.

"Of course I _was _angry. You were making stupid, hurtful remarks," I tell him and Peeta looks to the ground, ashamed. "And you didn't tell me the truth about your episodes. We promised we wouldn't do that," I add. "Remember?"

"I know," he whispers, daring to take a step closer. "I'm sorry."

"I know," I tell him. I know that he is very sorry for what he said. Hell, I knew the moment the words left his mouth that he regretted them. Peeta's eyes look so large they might swallow me whole. As if he's unable to stand being apart any longer, he quickly snatches my hand from where it hangs limply by my side.

"I understand why you volunteered," he explains. "But if something happens, Katniss I'll…I'll…"

"This isn't like the Games, Peeta," I interject, squeezing his fingers. "These are the good guys. They don't want us dead. I'm one of the Mockingjays, aren't I? They're protecting me," I soothe, taking his one hand in both of mine. I say the words for both of our benefit. I don't tell him that I'm scared.

"And Gale will be there," I add, glancing up at him.

Peeta's brow furrows when I say Gale's name. I haven't uttered it since arriving from District 12. Another reason I'm a horrible person. Sometimes I wonder why Peeta even bother's sticking with me. I couldn't fathom why Gale stuck around for so long as I was nothing but terrible to him.

"So you made up with him, then?" he asks. Maybe he thinks it ironic how Gale and I mended things while Peeta and I were fighting. Maybe he thinks it's ironic because Peeta is the one who kept pushing me to make things right.

"I think so," I respond lamely, even though I'm not so sure things will ever be right again. Peeta sighs and tugs me close.

"Well you were really mad at him and it took _months_ for you two to make up. I guess it's not very promising for me, then," he says heavily, chancing a quick glance at my face. I try to hide the twitching in my cheeks but fail.

"I don't know," I consider. "You're pretty charming so it's a lot more difficult to stay mad at you. Plus I don't really know what to do with you when you grovel like this."

Peeta laughs quietly and I listen to the sound as it fades slowly. He swallows and then wraps me in a tight embrace. A small squeak escapes me as I collide with his chest but I return the gesture, relieved that I don't have to avoid him any longer. He always makes things so easy.

Peeta places a series of chaste kisses on my temple and cheek before nestling his face into my neck.

"Why did volunteer if you knew about your episodes?" I ask quietly. "Peeta. If you went and had an episode..."

Peeta stiffens after I speak. Does he know how dangerous it could have been if Coin allowed him to go on the mission? Not only for himself but for every person involved. Peeta would have been a sitting duck. I hug him tighter, until I feel him relax into my arms again.

"I wasn't thinking," he responds in self-hatred. "That was really stupid of me." His chest hitches and he kisses the side of my neck. "I can't control anything," he whispers into the skin. "I…I just…all I want to do is keep you safe. And it's so much harder now than it was before because I'm so messed up. I just want to keep you safe. It's all I've ever wanted to do," he pleads, a strangled sound. I run my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck before pulling away.

"We protect each other. It's what we do," I smile.

He doesn't return it.

"You need to have faith in me," I continue, tapping his cheek. "You need to have faith that everything will be alright. That I'll come back—with Annie—and we will get through this together, that—"

My voice cuts off and I swallow the painful lump that's formed rapidly in my throat. Closing my eyes, I try to ignore the fact that this moment right now reminds me so much of the time before Peeta went into the Quell. Of how desperate I felt and how hopeless it all seemed. Is that how he feels right now? Is that what his venom-riddled mind is telling him? Is that what this world has taught us?

Although to be fair, if Peeta were going on this mission I would be an absolute basket case. I wouldn't put it past me to plead for him to stay and I know that there's no way he would deny me because now we have the _choice_.

"Peeta, if you really want me to stay here…if you beg me to stay…I couldn't leave you," I whisper, resting my forehead against his. Peeta doesn't say anything and for a while the only sound in the room is that of our quiet breathing. I shift on my feet, leaning more heavily against him.

"No," he finally says. "I couldn't do that."

Peeta tilts his head and gives me a soft, tender kiss. It warms me, chasing away the fear that's been nipping at my heels ever since Boggs showed me the nightlock.

"And I have faith in you. Always," he murmurs.

Peeta smiles down at me, a stray piece of hair falling into his eyes. I grab him behind the neck and pull his mouth down to mine, kissing him firmly. Peeta chases my lips blindly after I pull away, frowning when I put a finger over them before he can kiss me again.

"I love you, you know," I smile.

Peeta grins and my finger falls from his lips and onto his teeth. He reaches up and places a hand on my cheek. For a moment it looks like he wants to say something more—his smile wavers and his eyes cloud over—but he replaces that look with funny smirk.

"And I guess I love you, too. At least a little bit," he shrugs. Before I can come up with an equally snarky remark, Peeta molds his lips to mine and my response disappears on my tongue.

* * *

The Mockingjay suit they designed for me is too tight. It's suffocating, but that might be because of the bulletproof vest that is built inside. The suit reminds me of Cinna and I wonder, for the hundredth time, where he might be.

If he's alive or if they've killed him like they killed Portia. I wonder about Effie, too.

But I can't think about them now because I'm leaving tonight. I scan the large hallway our team is standing in. I see Gale off in the corner, speaking quietly to his family. He bends down and gives Posy a kiss on the cheek.

Prim said she would be coming with Peeta shortly. I haven't seen him since this morning because of my demanding pre-launch schedule. Things have become particularly tense and foreboding over the past day. Everyone in 13 seems to be anticipating this recovery mission and I wonder if this is what it was like before I was rescued from 12.

I'm anxious and I want to see Peeta because the fear that, for some reason, I might not see him before I go presses on my chest like an anvil.

The longer I wait the more uneasy I become and it isn't until I see a flash of bronze move around the corner that I stop worrying for a moment.

Finnick looks awful.

Seeing him is the exact push I need, though. I'm reminded of Annie and just how important it is for me to succeed because if I don't, and I come back empty-handed, I definitely won't be the same and Finnick will disintegrate.

I refuse to let that happen.

"Finnick," I say, touching his shoulder gently when he's near enough. Apparently he didn't notice me because he starts at the contact and turns around; his face is painted in a combination of terror and worry. At the sight of me, his lips twist up into what is supposed to be a smile.

"I will bring Annie back to you," I tell him quietly. Finnick's face goes blank for a second, as if at the mere mention of her name he needs to protect himself from the possibility of heartache. "When I come back, she will be with me," I vow, taking care to enunciate each word. "I promise."

There's nothing more for me to say to him. And I realize that if I were to have spoken to him before this moment, in this way, I would have said the exact same thing. I will bring her back to him the same way he brought me back to Peeta. I promise to do it, because the only reason I will fail will be if I die, in which case I don't come back at all.

Finnick stands on shaky legs before pulling me into a tight hug. He doesn't have to say anything because I can feel—in his embrace—what he wants me to know.

It's _please_. It's _I owe you_. It's _I'm sorry_. It's _thank you_. It's _good luck_.

He pulls away and shoots me a quick grin that fades too quickly.

"I don't know what Delly is going to do when Annie comes back, though. I think she has a little bit of a massive crush on you," I say, attempting to lighten the mood. Finnick chuckles lightly before looking over my shoulder and frowning. Glancing behind me, I see Peeta walking around the corner as Rye grips his shoulder tightly. I look back to Finnick but it's clear that whatever improvements I made in his mood have been dashed by Peeta's obviously distressed state.

I exhale loudly, pat Finnick's cheek, and then turn around to face Peeta. When he's only a few feet from me, Rye lets go of his brother's shoulder, giving it a light shake before walking away. Peeta doesn't even acknowledge him and his eyes don't leave mine.

"Rye was nervous I would have another episode at seeing you leave," he says weakly.

I close the distance between us in two steps, moving my hands up to cup his cheeks. Haymitch proved himself again by 'accidentally' giving the filming crew the wrong launch dock. He'll be chewed out for it later, no doubt, but in the time it takes for them to find the correct location, Peeta and I can have a private moment. I shuffle us into the corner so we're partially obscured from view. We're still a bit of freak show and even though the people in this area are supposed to be professionals, uncaring about our personal lives, they can't help but stare sometimes.

"Will you?" I ask hesitantly, knowing that if he does, indeed, have an episode, I won't be in the right mental state to complete this mission. Peeta gives me a small smile and shakes his head.

"No," he replies, curling a hand around the back of my neck and resting his forehead against mine. "We wasted so much time being angry with one another," he whispers. I close my eyes and nudge my nose against his.

"Don't be melodramatic."

Peeta's fingers twitch at the base of my neck and when he doesn't respond I open my eyes to look up at him. It's very obvious that he's trying to hold himself together so I run the tips of my fingers underneath his eyes in an effort to calm him somewhat. Peeta looks up to the ceiling and blinks rapidly.

"Hey," I soothe, leaning into him. "Remember what I said? They're sending all their best soldiers with us. I have two personal soldiers flanking me at all times," I remind him, pointing to Boggs, who stands at attention by the door to the launch pad. "It's a simple rescue and we're not supposed to be gone for more than a day. This is for Finnick."

Peeta nods curtly, struggling to stay something, and his Adam's apple bobs precariously in his neck. Quietly, I pull him to me, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing light kisses onto the skin of his throat. Last night, Peeta didn't sleep. We lay together on his bed, exchanging nothing more than the occasional simple kiss. I think he was far too upset to attempt any other physical activity but I was just happy that we had reconciled. And to be honest, I fell asleep rapidly, exhausted by my time in training during the past few days and by the stress of the mission at hand. Surprisingly, there were no nightmares.

I can feel Peeta's throat tighten under my lips so I pull away, lean up and place my mouth on his.

"I need to ask you a favor," I whisper against his mouth while my fingers tangle in his hair. Peeta's arms are locked around my waist and I have to stretch to make eye contact with him when I pull away. "They're very strict about the dress code for this mission," I explain, pointing my eyes to the ridiculous black jumpsuit I'm wearing. I disentangle myself from his arms and reach down to pull something out of my boot. "They won't let me keep this with me," I say, showing Peeta the blue sea glass he gave me all those months ago on the beach. His eyes widen a bit as he looks down at the object. "And I haven't let go of it since…" I trail off, unable to even mention the Quell. Because this is _not_ the same and this is _not_ goodbye.

"Will you keep it safe for me?" I ask, holding the glass out to him in the palm of my hand. I nearly had a fit when Boggs told me I wasn't allowed to carry anything with me because I've had this piece of glass with me at all times for the better half of a year. Peeta locks eyes with me before tracing the edge of the glass with his finger. I take his hand, flip it over, and place the glass inside.

"I want it back when I return, though," I tell him, almost scolding. This makes Peeta smile for the first time since before we went to bed last night.

"I won't let go of it," he responds, wrapping his fingers around the object tightly. Peeta's eyes flick up to mine and we hold each other's gaze for a long moment before he swoops down and gives me a long, heated kiss. I'm so thrown off by it that I stumble a bit and have to grip on to the front of his shirt to keep from falling over. He places his hands on my cheeks and kisses me deeper, breathing raggedly through his nose. It makes me dizzy and the way he whimpers when he pulls away makes my stomach turn into knots. I can taste his desperation.

"I wish I'd have given you a proper sendoff," he says breathlessly. I catch my own and notice that the twinkle in his eye is dimmer than usual.

"Me too," I tell him. "But when I get back, we'll lock Rye out of your room and you'll make it up to me."

I blush at my own words, not used to talking like this. Peeta's eyes darken considerably, though, and I smile at the way he licks his lips. Feeling daring, I leaning up onto my toes, press my check against his and whisper into his ear.

"And then you'll make it up to me again," I whisper, taking note of how he bends lower, curling his body over mine. "And again after that."

Peeta shivers and he grips my hips tightly, pulling my them to his. This is definitely not the time or place but I can't bring myself to care.

"Is that a promise?" he whispers back, the dark edge to his voice making me tremble. I wanted to be with him last night so badly but we both seemed to know that sex between the two of us would equate to a 'goodbye' of some sort and like I've said a million times before, this is not goodbye.

Absolutely not.

"Yes," I affirm, pulling back and pecking him once on the lips. When I pull away, I can't help but grin at the hazy look in his eyes and his dilated pupils, happy with myself for successfully distracting him from the upsetting part of this moment.

"That's cruel of you. To leave me with that image," he whines.

"Well I have to give you something to look forward to, don't I?" I ask, raising my eyebrows and nudging him with my elbow. Peeta's smile slowly fades again and I know that what I've been putting off has finally arrived. Especially since the camera crew has just tumbled into view, complaining loudly about 'misdirections'.

Peeta loosens his grip on my waist and moves his hand to smooth over my braid.

"I'll miss you," he whispers painfully. It's clear he would have liked to choose a different set of words. But we both know better.

"We're not doing this," I chide. I told him last night this is exactly what we weren't going to do. None of this stuff—the stuff that alludes to the fact that we might not be seeing each other again.

Because we _will_.

"I'll see you very soon, Peeta." When his frown doesn't dissipate, I add, "And I'll miss you too, _obviously_."

Boggs taps my shoulder and informs me that we are set to launch in five minutes.

In other words: _wrap it up_.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Prim move into view. I said my peace to her, and my mother, yesterday and she understood the way only Prim can. I told her I'd come back.

I mean it.

I did it once before.

Peeta lets go of me and backs away only to surge forward again and kiss me quickly on the mouth.

He knows not to say it. We won't say the words because it would be too much like the Quell. Too much like the Games. We're with the good side now and there's no need to worry. Nonetheless, before Peeta pulls away, I plant my lips firmly on his and silently scream what I've been thinking this whole time.

_I love you. Always. _

I pull away in a huff and Peeta straightens, swallowing thickly. I can't be around him anymore or else I'll never leave. Boggs tugs on my shoulder and I give Peeta one last smile before turning to Prim.

"Go find Finnick and tell him to stop pulling his hair out," I say. "This Annie girl might not like him so much when he's bald and I don't feel like wasting my time."

Peeta smiles tightly and I can tell it's taking every ounce of strength he has to keep himself composed right now. He's strung as tight as a wire and I doubt anyone else notices how hard his jaw is clenched or the way his arms are shaking just slightly.

Prim takes him by the hand and pulls him towards the hallway. Just like I told her to.

"Hey!"

I turn quickly to the left at Gale's voice. It reverberates off the walls of the hall, disrupting the otherwise quiet place. Gale looks like he might be sick and I watch in confusion as he stalks forward. My eyes travel to his intended target.

Madge stands in the corner, her blonde hair pulled into a loose, messy bun at the base of her head. She looks to be frowning.

When Gale is not two feet from her, her mouth falls open in confusion. Gale yanks her forward by the arm, captures her face between his hands and kisses her. Madge stumbles a bit but finds purchase on Gale's shoulders. The moment is over quickly but I've _seen it_ and I can't look away from the two of them. I try to find a distinct moment in the past months, while in District 13, when the two of them got together but I can't.

I've been focused on myself.

Gale whispers something to her before turning around and walking straight out the doors and onto the launch pad. I'm too shocked to blush at noticing something so private. The last thing I see before Boggs nudges me forward, forcing my eyes away, is Madge smiling into her hand, blushing crimson. She looks like she might cry.

I'm ripped from the surprising images of Gale and Madge when I hear the District 13 soldiers start to shout commands into their ear pieces. They start checking their guns, and I allow myself a moment of panic. Because the guns and soldiers and camera crew have suddenly invaded my senses and I what I've forced myself not to think about this entire time is literally shoving itself in my face. Gale and Madge disappear. Finnick goes and so does Prim. Peeta fades away.

_I'm going to war, aren't I? _

In a terrified daze, I follow Boggs to the door of the launch pad, turning around at the last minute—out of instinct more than anything else.

Peeta leans against the wall. When he sees me turn around, he tries to smile—really, he _tries_—but it's a forced thing. Slowly, he lifts his hand, holding out the sea glass between his fingers.

He'll always get the last word, won't he?

_I love you, too._

_Always. _

I give him a jerky nod and force my feet in the opposite direction, following Boggs onto the launch pad and into a hovercraft. I'm handed a bow and a quiver of arrows—designed especially for me—and the doors to the hovercraft shut with a loud, final clank.

Someone behind me starts to count down, and I wish I had my sea glass with me.

I remind myself that I won't be killing children and that the terms 'Tributes', 'Victors' and 'Games' don't apply this time around.

This time is different.

* * *

**A/N: Excuse any typos—I'm very sleepy. **

**I'm sad to say that there are only either 3 or 4 more chapters (plus an epilogue) left in this story. I can't believe the response it's gotten so far, so thank you for all the follows, favorites and especially the reviews, which make me the happiest person in the world and force me to smile like an idiot when I read them. If you're sad this story is coming to a close, so am I! Maybe that's why I've dragged it out for so long :)**

**I have (good...?) news, though! With some serious help from my friend girlwiththebangs (hey gurl!), I've been thinking up a new modern day AU story that has me CRAZY excited. As sad as I am to see this story go, I'll be honest—I'm pumped to start a story where the main characters don't have the ever-present fear of death hanging over their heads... **

**The prologue for that story will probably be posted simultaneously with the epilogue for this one and I will let you know what to look for when that happens, if you are interested!  
**

**I'll try my best to update quickly but if I don't, please me merciful! Remember—the real world sucks!  
**

**_Reviews_ are the BEST! **


	27. Chapter 27

Everyone is quiet.

I don't know what I was thinking would happen – maybe that there would be a frenzied shouting of orders or an ongoing discussion of the progression of this mission – but all I know is that I'm surprised how calm everyone seems right now.

The soldiers on our hovercraft sit straight-backed and silent, staring directly ahead. If I didn't know any better, I'd suspect that Gale was born one of them. His dark uniform, short hair and unnerving stoicism make him absolutely indistinguishable from the others.

My camera crew is the only portion of our squad that differs from the rest and that's only because they each carry a piece of film equipment in their laps in place of a weapon. I think them insane to walk blindly into District 4 with no way of defending themselves, especially since they are all born Capitolites, but Haymitch told me that they're too invested in the bigger picture to care. I couldn't tell if he was trying to hint at something or not. I catch myself staring at the woman named Cressida's bald, tattooed head before I return my gaze to my hands and focus on what I'm supposed to do.

Coin was very clear in our meetings so there isn't much thinking that I actually have to do during this whole ordeal. I follow orders. That's it. I follow the squad down to the basement of the District 4 Justice Building, where Annie Cresta is detained, and then we get out. I actually think my presence may be more troublesome than beneficial but I know Coin is insisting on having material for her propaganda films and no one questions her except Haymitch.

I glance quickly at the two massive soldiers on either side of me. Boggs I know already but the other – Jackson – I just met a few days ago. Together they will flank me as I follow the others – they're my own human wall.

My job is to hold my weapon, look serious, and do absolutely nothing else. I am not supposed to fire my weapon unless it's absolutely necessary. I am not supposed to speak or move unless directed to do so. I am not supposed to divert from the plan. Time passes tremendously slow as I think this over.

There are no windows in the belly of the hovercraft, only a large metal door, so I can feel – not see – when we touch down in 4. I swallow audibly and release a deep breath.

_It's going to be fine_, I tell myself. _It will be fine_.

But I can't help the way that my hands start to shake or the way my heart begins to pound in my chest. The Games have turned me into something of a skittish animal and being thrust into unstable territory only exacerbates my nerves. I grip my bow and force myself to believe what I so confidently told Peeta a few hours ago because it's useless at this point to let myself think differently. It will only distract me if I dwell on the bad.

_Everything will be fine. _

Boggs taps my shoulder. Wordlessly, I adjust my quiver and stand. I look straight ahead and suck up all the fear and panic I feel bubbling just underneath my skin. I don't have time to be scared, and my stomach turns inside out when I remember I told myself the same exact thing during my Hunger Games.

Just as the doors of the hovercraft begin to open, I feel someone move next to me. Gale searches my face, brows turned down.

"You okay?" he mouths.

I pause only slightly before nodding back. It's the most we've spoken since I confronted him during training a few days ago.

The door of the hovercraft lifts up completely, giving way to the night air, and my muscles lock briefly before I force myself to calm down again. Detaching myself from the current situation is not as difficult as I thought it would be, probably because the ability to do so became a part of me so many years ago. That gritty, quiet resolve is still there; I just guess it only shows itself during life or death situations.

Taking a deep breath, I wash every thought from my mind and focus solely on the mission at hand. I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins and, for some reason I cannot explain, it's strangely calming.

I feel almost lethargic as my legs move robotically beneath me, carrying me after the soldiers from 13 almost as if by themselves. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Cressida's camera blinking.

I swallow heavily, trying to forget that if I die, it will be documented for everyone to see.

_It was the same with the Hunger Games. _

I lock that thought away. I lock them _all_ away except for a few.

_I do this and I can go back to Prim. _

I breathe deeply.

_I do this and I can go back to Peeta. _

We march down the ramp of the hovercraft and onto the sandy ground of District 4. It's extremely dark but nothing can mask the desolation that lays in heaps around me. I try not to let my eyes stray from the path our squad carves through the night because I know that if I connect any humanity to this mess I will tumble over of the carefully constructed wall I've built around myself. It's impossible, though, not to notice how different the place looks compared to just under a year ago when I was here on the Victory Tour.

In the distance I can see smoke seeping from what must have been a series of buildings. When Coin told us District 4 had fallen, this is not what I expected. I don't let myself wonder where the people are because I don't want to know the answer.

My feet make crunching sounds as I step over glass and metal debris. Every now and then I'll get a whiff of salty air, making me wonder if mine and Peeta's beach hasn't been completely destroyed.

I desperately hope it hasn't.

The closer we get to the Justice Building, the more congested our path becomes. I still can't see much because of the tightly packed group of soldiers that surround me but I can _hear_. Sporadically I'll make out a quiet cry or a cough and it eats at me that I can't go and help anyone else – that I'm forced to stay in this tight, black mob of secret rescuers. It makes me feel like a coward and it makes me feel like a failure for a multitude of reasons I can't completely explain.

When we reach the Justice Building my heart sinks to my knees.

Half of the building has been completely blown away and the back part of the structure is still burning, the flames lighting up the otherwise opaque sky. We pause only momentarily before Boggs motions at us with two pointed fingers to head down a series of crumbling steps. I think this might have been a staircase before the building was half blown to bits.

I pick my way through the rubble and follow everyone down into the basement of the building, trying to ignore the way Cressida's camera blinks relentlessly to my right.

The air is cool and damp in the basement and when someone turns on one of the headlights attached to their helmet my eyes hasten to adjust to the brightness. I squint into the now-bright hallway and notice immediately that the basement is tiny and Annie Cresta is nowhere to be found.

I might be sick.

I look to Boggs again for direction but he instructs two soldiers – a man named Mitchell and Gale – to head towards a door at the end of the hallway. They move forward slowly and Gale raises his gun, pointing it at the door, while his bow and quiver hang over his back, forgotten.

Gale pauses, counting under his breath, before he opens the door, which immediately falls off its hinges and onto the floor.

A wail.

The two of them rush into the room while the rest of us wait at the foot of the staircase. I itch to run after them, because hearing Annie's tortured scream has reminded me of why I'm here in the first place, but Boggs holds his arm out in front of me, blocking my way.

_Stick to the plan, Everdeen. You're a nuisance enough as it is. _

Seconds later Mitchell appears, the girl I recognize as Annie Cresta in tow. Her long, dark hair covers her face as she sobs into her hands. She wears only a thin, white nightgown that's covered in dirt and blood. Her bare feet are scratched and dirty and she almost trips on a large piece of concrete that had apparently fallen from the ceiling.

She looks a far cry from the picture they showed us back in 13.

I don't know her at all but it takes everything in me to not run to her – to not offer some sort of comfort – because I promised Finnick this _one_ thing. I'd feel almost better if she were next to me instead of Mitchell, as strange as it is. She's older than I am but in this moment she looks so young and completely helpless.

Annie shrieks when Mitchell leads her forward.

"Mags!" she cries, repeating the word over and over. I wonder what she's trying to say but try not to think too much of it. I know she's not right in the head so I write off her non-English word as some sort of distressed exclamation. As I shift on my feet, physically preventing myself from running toward Annie, the building shakes above us and tiny pieces of the concrete ceiling trickle down onto our shoulders.

"Weapons tight!" Boggs shouts as larger and larger pieces of concrete fall from the ceiling. "Back to craft. I repeat, back to craft."

I'm being shoved up the stairs before I know it and out of the corner of my eye I see Mitchell scoop Annie up in his arms and hurry towards the staircase after us. My heart beats aggressively against my ribs and I choke back the feelings of pure terror that threaten to suffocate me.

The sound of rocks smashing against one another fills my ears and suddenly all I can see is the avalanche during the Quarter Quell. It doesn't matter that I wasn't actually _there_ because the feelings of clear, unfiltered fear and dread that had consumed me while I watched the thing were so unbearable that I might as well have been. I stumble and Cressida is the one who takes hold of my arm, hoisting me back up and pushing me forward.

Our carefully constructed plan erupts into chaos and all that matters now is that we get back to the hovercraft. I stall, looking for Annie, because she _needs_ to come with me. I hear Boggs shouting orders into his earpiece behind me and I try to look back again but trip on a piece of some destroyed building. I land on my knees and the sharp pain I register in my palm is forgotten immediately when Boggs lifts me up again and shoves me forward.

"Just get to the craft, Everdeen. Don't worry about the rest.," he insists.

I bite back my retort and listen because it's my _one_ job on this damn trip. The sound of air whooshes through my ears as I focus on the hovercraft in the distance.

_Just get back_, I think as Annie continues to sob in back of me. _Just get back and you'll be able to go home to Prim and Peeta. Just listen to the orders. _

My legs drag heavily as I push myself forward and once my feet hit the metal of the hovercraft ramp I stagger to the side and lean against one of the benches, breathing deeply. Annie is immediately taken to the corner to be treated for her wounds and I try to push past Mitchell to get to her but fail. I want to surge forward – to shove Mitchell aside and make sure she's all right – but I'm paralyzed on the hovercraft floor because suddenly this scenario is all too familiar.

I'm back on the hovercraft that picked Peeta and me up from the arena after our Games and they _won't let me see him_. Mitchell is trying to quiet Annie but he isn't succeeding. I call out to her weakly, fighting back an anguished sob, because she reminds me of everything sad and scary about the world we live in.

I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to fight this battle.

I want to go home.

I was wrong in thinking I could do this. I don't care if we have Annie and the mission was a success. I can barely handle myself right now as I swim in upsetting memories. I'm too broken to be the poster child for a rebel cause. I can't even hear this girl's cries without breaking down myself. Her screams might as well be mine.

I'm far too overwhelmed.

I feel a tear snake it's way down my cheek and wipe it away before Cressida can catch me. She's filming the rest of the crew as they amble up the ramp. Taking a few deep breaths, I study the black-clad men and women of our squad as they enter the belly of the hovercraft. Some of them are bleeding, some are completely untouched.

I search their faces with an intensity that makes my head hurt.

I do it twice, three times and again after that before my blood turns to lead.

Gale isn't here.

On shaky legs, I stand.

"Where is Gale?" I shout, on the verge of sounding hysterical. "Where is Soldier Hawthorne?" I correct myself, panicked.

I look wildly around the hovercraft, hoping in vain that somehow I just happened to miss him during the confusion. But as the last of the soldiers trickles in, bloodied and broken, my hope is lost. This can't be happening.

"Soldier Everdeen, we need to return to 13. We were given strict orders," the pilot, who's name I've forgotten, explains. I shake my head, racking my brain for when we could have possibly been separated. I feel nauseous, realizing that I had been so focused on just completing the mission correctly, and returning to 13, that I had not been paying attention to anyone else. To my _best friend_.

"No," I choke out, staggering toward the door. "We can't leave him behind!"

The pilot turns his back on me and begins pressing a series of buttons before Boggs steps forward and addresses me.

"Soldier Hawthorne agreed to these terms when he agreed to become a part of this mission," he explains. I turn around and stare daggers at the man. My panic and fury are making my vision blurry.

"What terms? To be abandoned? He's probably hurt or…" my voice trails when I think about just how injured Gale might be, wherever he is. He could by lying in a ditch, bleeding out. He could be knocked unconscious and crushed by the collapsed building.

He could be dead.

I grip my bow and start again towards the hovercraft door, which is miraculously still open. I can hear bullets firing in the distance and my stomach rolls around in my gut because that can only mean one thing: the Capitol soldiers have arrived. I don't care, though. I'm just over the threshold when I feel someone grip my arm tightly. I turn on my heel and am met with a furious-looking Boggs. For a man who is typically so calm and collected, seeing him so clearly livid is startling.

"Soldier Everdeen, sit down," he states. It's an order, obviously. Again, I don't care.

"I can't leave him," I shoot back. I will not. Not again.

"We're at war. This is what happens," Boggs explains, the anger disappearing from his eyes and voice. Maybe he's trying to reason with me. He should know better at this point.

"No."

"Turn that camera off," Boggs snarls at Cressida, gripping my arm so tightly that I think I might lose feeling in my fingers. I begin to panic in the same way I think a small animal might panic if it's cornered – searching for an escape but ready to lash out if need be. "Don't make me use this," Boggs says lowly, before pulling a syringe out of a strategically placed pocket. My panic doubles – making my vision spotty.

After my experience leaving District 12, and then after Peeta's episode in 13, I think I'd recognize a tranquilizer anywhere. Although I can't say I'd trusted anyone in District 13 to begin with, I can't help but feel betrayed. Did they expect me to have a mental breakdown on this mission? Were they so confident that I would become troublesome that they made my escort carry a tranquilizer?

I act before I think.

Twisting out of Boggs grasp, I reach over my back and pull an arrow out of my quiver. It's strung and pointing directly at Boggs' chest before anyone can react. I'm actually a little surprised when he backs away as I expected he would have just lunged forward and stuck me with the needle in seconds.

I can't waste anymore time, though. Gale is hurt, or worse, and I need to get to him. I'd abandoned him the moment I was Reaped while he stuck by my side this whole time. I need to get to him and make this better. I need to fix whatever we were. I can't believe I've been so selfish.

"Don't be stupid," Boggs says, palms raised.

I readjust my aim and let the arrow fly. I turn around quickly, not even bothering to watch as my arrow grazes Boggs' thigh. It wasn't meant to be a deadly hit – just one to distract – and I know it's done its job when I'm not met with any resistance as I fly off the hovercraft and into the Distract 4 night. I sprint through the maze of buildings and the only sound is that of the pounding of blood rushing in my ears.

After 10 minutes of running, I duck behind a concrete wall and catch my breath, listening to the soft firing of bullets in the distance. I know that everyone thinks I am crazy. Stupid, even. I've accepted that a long time ago and I've believed them. But I know deep, deep down that this is one of the smartest decisions I've ever made.

My mind flits to Peeta, who is surely with Prim, both of them waiting anxiously for my return. What happens if I don't make it back?

With dizzying speed, I'm shuttled back to our heated argument the night I volunteered for this mission – of my description of my behavior when I thought Peeta had been taken from me for good.

"_If you leave and don't come back, that's what I'll be like. Why would you want that for me?"_

A lump forms quickly in my throat and I struggle to swallow it down again. He'll have to understand that I couldn't leave my friend. How could I have made it back to him and left Gale alone? The girl who would have done that is not the same girl that Peeta loves, I know that for sure.

Peeta fell for Brave Katniss. He fell for Strong Katniss. He fell for Loyal Katniss. The same Katniss that was Gale Hawthorne's best friend.

And right now I need to save my best friend.

I'm about to move forward again when I hear heavy breathing and fast footfalls coming towards me from around the corner. I raise my bow and plant my feet, ready to sink my arrow into the eye of whoever turns the corner. I was careful to zig-zag my way through the ruins so they couldn't find me easily - if they tried to at all, that is.

I'm thrown for a loop, though, when I see Cressida, her bald head shining eerily in the moonlight. She stops short when she sees me, gasping in shock at my aggressive pose.

"Why did you follow me?" I ask, lowering my weapon slightly. "Are you insane?" I hiss. She's an easy target and I know that she'll only slow me down. I don't have much time.

Cressida leans forward, hands on knees as she catches her breath. She coughs a little before she reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a portable video camera.

"Are you?" she asks, ignoring my question and checking to see if her camera works.

I don't have to think twice for my answer.

"Yes."

* * *

"They're sending someone after you, you know," Cressida explains as we crawl through the night, retracing our path from hovercraft to Justice Building. "They were arguing about it when I left."

It's easier to see when there aren't so many people around me but what I'm looking at is not pretty. The main square in District 4 has been all but destroyed. In the distance I can see the ocean water but I turn away quickly, not wanting to distract myself with memories. I need to get to Gale, and get him back to the hovercraft.

"Well I'll shoot them," I reply to Cressida, voice detached and cold.

That shuts her up and we focus on finding our way back to the Justice Building, tracing our prior path thoroughly and searching for signs of Gale. It's easy to blend in with our charred surroundings given our state of dress but the constant blinking of Cressida's camera has me fearing she'll give us away. The bullets I heard in the distance don't sound close but it still doesn't give us much time to find Gale and then get back to the hovercraft without getting caught. The thought makes me want to vomit.

When we reach the Justice Building I assess the damage with my heart in my throat. The staircase that leads down to the basement hasn't caved in yet but I know from the way the ceiling was crumbling that we don't have much time before it collapses in on itself completely.

To her credit, Cressida follows right behind me as I navigate my way down the stairs. I relax my bow when we make it to the bottom, my injured hand singing in relief. I had forgotten I split it open.

"Gale," I shout, uncaring how my voice reverberates off the walls of the semi-destroyed basement. At first I don't hear anything, and my panic beings to build heavily in my gut, closing my throat in on itself. I pick my way deeper into the basement and call his name again.

"The ceilings gonna cave."

The sound is no more than a murmur and my head swivels on my neck as I try to locate where he is in the room. Once my eyes have fully adjusted to the dark, I see him.

Gale is lying where the door to the room that held Annie once was. He's half covered in pieces of concrete and his pants are stained red below the knee.

"Oh my god," I whisper, running to him as quickly as this small, cluttered space will allow.

"There was another woman," Gale croaks once I kneel next to him and I rip my eyes away from his bloody leg to look at his face. His voice is so low it's almost as if he's speaking to himself. "I heard her right before the mine exploded. I thought…she's…"

I know from the way that Gale's face hardens that this other woman did not make it. He stayed back to find her, which is obvious, given his current state. In my haste getting back to the hovercraft, I didn't even here the mine explode.

"Are there any others in here?" I ask, trying to look around him and into the cavernous hole that was once a room.

"No," he says quietly, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments. "No."

I grit my teeth and nod, focusing my attention once again on Gale's leg. We need to get out of here. Fast.

"I didn't know if you'd come," he mutters, wincing as I pull back his shredded pant leg to assess the damage. Gale's words slice through me and my hands fall limply by his knee. The truth is, I almost didn't. I almost forgot about him when _not once_ has he forgotten about me. But now that I'm here, I won't leave without him.

"Have I changed that much?" I ask him, because I don't know what else to say. It's a question for both of us, I realize.

Gale turns away from me, swallowing thickly.

"I was just hoping you wouldn't come, I guess."

I can't have this discussion with him right now, but it's not my inability to confront the past that's preventing me from doing so. I need to get Gale out of here before the Capital reaches the Justice Building and, more importantly, before the Justice Building collapses on top of us.

"What happened?" I ask, changing the subject and trying not to let the sight Gale's bloody calf send me running. "You said – "

"A land mine from above exploded when we were leaving," he explains again, gritting his teeth as I continue to inspect his wound. "And that woman was too close. I tried, Katniss, but it was too late."

I glance up and meet his eyes, realizing this is the first time that Gale has been confronted with death face to face. Sure, we've seen it take away miners and the hungry in District 12, but this type of violent death is different.

"I know, Gale," I tell him, holding onto his gaze. For a moment we just stare at one another and I hope that he can understand that I understand. For once, I get it. "Believe me," I continue on in a whisper before returning my attention to his wound, trying not to throw up at the sight of it. "I know."

There's shrapnel that's embedded itself in the skin of his calf. He was lucky – he wasn't too close, where the shrapnel might have hit bone, but it's shredded the leg a fair amount. Frowning, I realize I don't have any medical supplies with me so Gale is going to have to walk all the way back to the hovercraft on an injured leg.

"Do you think they'll leave us here?" I ask Cressida, not taking my eyes away from Gale's calf. They do not have my trust, these soldiers from 13, but I can't help but hope that they won't abandon us before the Capitol soldiers find us. I know Cressida said they were sending someone after me, but what does that mean anymore? I don't believe anyone's promises here. I think the only reason I even trust Cressida to give me a straight answer is because she followed me back into the unknown.

The insane trust the insane, I guess.

"And return back to District 13 without the Mockingjay?" Cressida asks with a sardonic laugh. "No way."

I nod, all the while cursing the skin-tight uniform they forced me to wear because I have nothing to cover Gale's wound with. I glance quickly over Gale's form and notice that there's nothing on him that could work either. Cressida doesn't even have a camera strap that I could use to tie off Gale's leg with.

I sit back on my haunches with a resigned sigh, taking note of how a few more pieces of concrete fall from the corner of the room.

We need to hurry.

"You're going to have to try and walk, Gale," I tell him. "I'm sorry. You can lean on me. Use me like a crutch, okay?"

I lean forward and grip him under the arm but Gale shoves me away before I can get a proper hold on him.

"Just go now. I won't make it – they'll just shoot me down anyway," he says angrily, unmoved by my completely shocked expression.

"No they won't," I argue back. "I'll shoot them first."

"If you're holding me up? How?" he asks. I'm about to tell him that he can hold on to Cressida when he runs his fists over his eyes in a defeated gesture. "You weren't supposed to stray from the plan, Katniss."

"I know," I snap, motioning for Cressida to come closer. If she's here she may as well be of some use.

"Why?" Gale asks quietly and for a second I'm taken aback. I guess it's not too obvious anymore, given how vastly I've changed, but I don't tell him that. But is it so hard to believe that I wouldn't help my friend? That I've changed _that_ drastically?

The look in his eyes only confirms what I've been thinking and it makes me furious – at him but mostly at myself. He's being so stubborn and he's completely unwilling to see things from my point of view. He should just _know_ but then I realize he doesn't because Gale and I are more or less the same exact person: sometimes we don't see things for what they are.

"Because you don't just leave your hunting partner when they're in trouble," I tell him, the anger in my voice disappearing with each word.

Gale thinks I owe him – I can see it in the way he looks at me. It's the same look he would get when Mayor Undersee would overpay for our strawberries: annoyance and frustration tinged with expertly hidden gratitude. I also know this because it's the exact way I would feel if I were him.

I _do_ owe him, though. I owe him more than I could possibly pay back but that's not the reason I'm here right now. Owing has nothing to do with this anymore.

"If something happens because of me," Gale breathes, wincing as he readjusts himself on the floor, "who is going to explain that to your mother and Prim?"

I freeze and my stomach drops to my toes.

"Who is going to explain that to Peeta, Katniss?"

I want to slap him for bringing them up. I want to sock him in the eye and scratch at his face because they are the only people who have the ability to make me selfish enough to save myself. I can't think about leaving Prim.

I absolutely refuse to think about leaving Peeta because, knowing how he feels, the thought fills me with such grief that I grow light-headed.

_No. Not now. _

"What if I left you here and had to explain that to your mother?" I argue back, because I have no answers to the question he posed me. "And Rory and Vick and Posy?" I list, getting angrier as each second passes because he is _wasting time_. "And Madge," I add, fighting off tears.

I'll turn the tables on him, for a change.

Gale and I lock eyes. My shoulders are rigid and my jaw is set so tightly it's become painful. This is a battle of wills that I absolutely refuse to lose. All at once, Gale's expression deflates and his grip on the railing he's been sitting under loosens.

In any other situation I might crack a smile at his surrender but not right now. We have a long walk until we're safe.

Cressida, for once, puts away her video camera and helps me lift Gale to a standing position. Together, we help him hobble up the steps and out into the District 4 night air. The crack and pop of bullets being fired seems closer than before but I swallow my fear and grip Gale's side tighter, fighting against his body weight to hold him upright. He's no complainer, that's for sure, but that only makes his strangled gasps of pain that much more unbearable to hear.

When we're halfway to the hovercraft Gale's knees buckle, forcing the three of us to the ground.

"Up!" I whisper harshly, panic eating away at my resolve because it's almost as if I can feel this dark night closing in on us with each passing second. The firing of bullets has died down but that fact has only really filled me with a potent dread.

"Gale," I whisper, "please."

He moans a little, gritting his teeth against what is sure to be an unbearable pain in his leg. Cressida readjusts her weight and just as I'm about to beg Gale once more to get back up, Cressida half laughs, half sighs in relief.

"They're here," she says, pulling at Gale's arm. I turn around to see two of the soldiers from 13 whose names I don't recall hustling forward. When they reach us, they grab Gale swiftly under the arms and haul him to a standing position. They're much better at carrying him than Cressida and I were so we follow behind, keeping an eye out for the Capitol soldiers I know must be lurking around the corner.

My suspicions are confirmed when we reach the ramp of the hovercraft.

It's the sound I register before the pain: a loud cracking snap – like that of a whip – and then I'm on the ground.

My stomach burns and I gasp for air, struggling to catch my breath after the hit that knocked me to the floor. Someone lifts me up and pulls me more firmly onto the hovercraft before I have time to understand what has happened.

I've been shot, but my costume – the stupid one with the thick vest – has protected me. I peer down and see the bullet wedged in the fabric of my uniform and I slump against the wall, where someone has propped me up. The initial pain subsides rather quickly but I know I will have a dark bruise as a souvenir tomorrow. The hovercraft door closes with a resounding thud and everything is quiet, once again.

I struggle to my feet, ignoring the dull, aching pain in my abdomen, and move towards where Gale has been placed on a makeshift cot in the corner. The one paramedic they provided us with is staring at Gale's battered leg in frustration.

"There aren't enough bandages for the extent of this injury," he explains. "We needed them for the Cresta girl. And then for the soldiers injured in the explosion."

I stare at him, not comprehending. Did they really not prepare for anything like this? Were they really so willing to leave potentially injured soldiers behind that they didn't properly prepare for terrible injuries?

Gale gasps out in pain as someone ties a tourniquet around his lower leg.

"How long until we make it back to 13?" I ask, concerned.

"A few hours," replies one of the soldiers.

_That's not enough_, I think.

That's not enough time to save Gale's leg. Once a tourniquet is tied, there is only a brief window until the tissue dies from blood lose. The reason I know this is two-fold. I've seen this happen a handful of times with miners in District 12 when they finally made it to our home in the Seam after a terrible accident.

And I've seen this happen with Peeta in the Hunger Games.

"What's the closest District that 13 has control over?" I shout at no one in particular. Gale loosing his leg is one thing, but I have no idea what kind of shrapnel has wedged itself in his skin and in the hours it takes to get back to 13, Gale could get very sick, very fast. All the soldiers stare at me in what I categorize as something similar to terrified awe. Everyone knows what the orders were: return to 13.

When I don't get an answer, I string an arrow and point it at the first person I see, which happens to be Mitchell.

"Put your weapon down, Soldier."

A shiver runs down my spine as I feel something hard and cold placed at the back of my neck. It leaves me paralyzed and absolutely rigid with fear. I know without looking that it's a gun because of the way the machine clicks as the safety is removed.

My limbs lock and a million thoughts run through my mind at once as my heart beats furiously against my ribcage. Internally I am screaming at myself.

_Fix this. Fix this. Fix this._

I will not die like this. In fact, I refuse to die like this. Not when I made a promise to bring Annie back to Finnick. Not when I told Prim I would return. And not when I told Peeta that everything would be alright.

I am a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cressida filming, her mouth hanging open in disgusted shock. I see my chance and I run with it.

"Tell me," I whisper, pausing so that my next words are clear and strong despite the fact that I am actually _so very frightened_. I have no idea who is pressing the gun into the back of my head right now. My immediate thought would have been Boggs but I recognize that this is not his voice. "Are you going to shoot one of the Mockingjays? How exactly do you plan on explaining that to President Coin? And the entire country?"

I swallow, not even bothering to filter my words. I don't know if what I'll say makes sense but I'm too riled to care at this point. I'm not the one who is good with words. I just need to get Gale to where they can fix him.

"I want you to touch down in the closest stable District so that this soldier can get the treatment he needs and deserves because this is what we are fighting for," I continue, making sure to make my words clear and strong.

"We are fighting for control of our lives. For _longer_ lives. For lives not lived in fear. This soldier risked his life fighting for that. I'm risking my life fighting for that and you point a gun to my head?"

My voice rises at this last bit when I am unable to control just how absolutely livid this thought makes me. That these soldiers were prepared to drug me if I misbehaved. That President Coin would encourage me to go on this mission with the expectation that I would some how fail.

"I refuse to sit by and watch as my friend deteriorates due to a treatable condition just because you won't disobey _the_ _rules_," I continue. "He could die without the proper treatment. If you refuse us, you're no better than the Capital," I say quietly, but firmly. "You're no better than Snow."

I have nothing left to say; there is nothing left for me to give. It's the longest I've spoken in my life. I feel the gun fall from it's place against my neck but I don't dare turn around. I still can't breathe.

"For God's sake, just take us to District 8."

I turn my head at the voice and see that Boggs is the one who has spoken. He's leaning against the wall of the hovercraft, his injured leg wrapped and extended in front of him.

"Now," he adds to the pilot, who has been watching this scenario unfold with his hands firmly planted on the controllers. He'd been waffling about which direction to go in - I hadn't realized we were already in the air. "Consider that an order. And Jackson? Hand over your weapon, you won't be needing it from now on."

I wobble on my legs – which feel more like jelly than anything else – watching as Jackson is apprehended by his fellow soldiers and made to sit as far away from me as possible. He was supposed to be the one protecting me. The adrenaline that had been surging through my veins for the better half of the night evaporates, leaving me utterly exhausted.

Annie Cresta sits in the corner, dazed and frightened but otherwise fine. Rubbing my abdomen, where the bullet remains embedded in my vest, I make my way towards where Gale lies on his makeshift cot.

When I sit, I inspect the few bandages that the paramedic has managed to provide, grimacing at the way they're already drenching in red. I have no idea if we'll make it to District 8 in time for Gale's leg to be saved.

All I can do is hope.

"There you are, Catnip," Gale whispers. I twist my head to look at him. He's smiling and when I frown, he laughs. I think it may be the pain that's made him delirious (or the blood lose) as I see no humor in the current situation.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"You sounded like Catnip again," he whispers, closing his eyes. "Just then."

Catnip. Old Katniss. Tough, ballsy Katniss who stood behind a cause. I didn't know she existed, still. I've been so scared and tired. I'd forgotten about the big picture. I'm quiet for a moment, thinking about all that's happened in these past few months. I'm nearly crushed by the weight of it all.

"I never wanted any of this," I whisper painfully. The 'this' I'm referring to encompasses so many different things.

I wish I were back in District 12. I don't want to be here, where I'm scared that any minute some soldier may pull their weapon on me. Where I'm so easily thrown back into memories of the Games. Where violence is _constant_ and _expected_. I wish Gale wasn't hurt and I wasn't on this hovercraft, watching him tremble with pain. I wish I were under the covers and in Peeta's arms because that is the only place in the world I feel safe anymore.

Worse, I don't know what my complete disregard for the rules may have gotten us into.

I expect Gale to argue back – to say that this is for the best and that it's what we've wanted all along – so I'm surprised when he doesn't. In fact, he says nothing at all and it's only when we've been in the air, flying safely away from District 4 and towards District 8 for over twenty minutes, that he finally speaks.

"No one did. But it's almost over. Then it's worth it."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for your patience with this! And for tolerating typos and such (I'm awfully tired).  
**

**For all the follows/favorites/reviews – thank you! Katniss may be a complete basket case but she does prove herself when it's needed. Curious to see how you all think this change will affect the rest of the rebellion and how certain people in Thirteen will react... Let me know what you think in a _review_? :)**

**Again, real life is the worst so please continue to be beautiful, wonderful, patient readers! **


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